Ashley
by marciejackson
Summary: AU. It is the summer of 1997. Voldemort is starting to look beyond Britain.  Who is the dark stranger who arrives in the night at Grimmauld Place in secrecy and violence? What will he mean to the war's great powers? And where is Harry Potter? Severitus.
1. Chapter 1

"speech"

_spells_

_text_

_p"_Parseltongue_"p_

_g_"German"_g_

_f_"French"_f_

_r"_Russian_"r_

An Order meeting was in session in the basement of Grimmauld Place. Snape, as per usual, gave his report at the beginning, curt and to the point, before sinking back into the shadows to observe with glittering black eyes. Mad-eye Moody made paranoid comments about his trustworthiness. Sirius Black made scathing queries about his true loyalty. Dumbledore assured everyone else of his faith in the spy. This was nothing out of the ordinary. What happened next, was.

The fire flared green and spat out a paper airplane. Now, this in itself was not a shocking event. In fact, it was a common way to send urgent messages, if more expensive than owl post due to the rising cost of floo powder. What was shocking was that the very few who knew where to find the Order of the Phoenix headquarters were already present - or so most of them had believed. This was enough to send a few into a panic, thinking it to be a trap of some kind. They need not have worried, however, for the airplane was headed for none of them. Rather, the aerodynamic parchment flew like a bullet from a gun towards the man in the shadows - Snape.

With reflexes that had served him well in the past, Snape whipped out his wand and shot off a silent _impedimenta_, causing the airplane to stop in mid-air and the nose to crumple slightly, as though it had hit an invisible wall. Snape reached out a thin-fingered hand and plucked the parchment neatly out of the air in front of a bewildered Order.

Dumbledore in particular was eyeing the parchment with interest. "Is that not the Leclair crest, Severus?" he asked delicately, looking at the coat of arms of fleur-de-lis in the four corners of a shield below a crossed wand and rapier and above the words 'In vita est nex'.

Snape, however, made no answer. Instead he stared at the parchment unfolded before him, his face whitening dramatically with every passing second. Without warning he stood and without a word swiftly made his way to the fire. Throwing in a handful of floo powder he intoned quietly, "Chateau Leclair, De inimico non loquaris sed cogites" and with his wand drawn, disappeared in a flash of emerald flames, his black eyes glittering dangerously.

The Order was left in a state of silent shock, all completely bewildered by their spy's actions. Dumbledore quietly reached over towards the abandoned parchment and read it, the eyes of the Order upon him.

"Oh dear," he said quietly.

"What is it Albus?" Minerva McGonagall said urgently. "Where has Severus gone?"

Dumbledore, in lieu of replying, read the note aloud into the encroaching silence.

_The wards are down. Opponents remaining number nine. Madame is dead. Assistance requested._

"But what does it mean?" asked Tonks as she watched Mad-eye examine the parchment for enchantments and fraud.

"It means," stated Dumbledore heavily, his face grave, "that we will shortly be hosting a new house-guest."

* * *

An hour later, the Order was still milling around. Their meeting had long since concluded, but everyone was waiting anxiously for the return of their resident Death-Eater-turned-Good-Guy. Amidst the quiet conversations, Dumbledore sat silently, his thoughts his own.

Suddenly, the fire flared green and out stepped Snape, limping slightly and holding a pack of ice to his left temple. The Order immediately bombarded him with questions, those who had been seated leaping to their feet at the sight of Snape's injuries. The man in question, however, made answer to none. Instead, he turned back to the fire, as though expecting something. Not a moment later, a trunk appeared which Snape took out of the flames and placed off to the side. Still he was silent. Finally, the fire flared for a third time.

Out stepped another dark figure, also tall, also thin, also slim-fingered. He was clutching his left arm to his chest with his right, though this did nothing to lessen the natural grace with which he moved. Snape gently reached into the flames and helped the stranger out, shocking much of the Order. Snape rarely sought physical contact with another. Not so with this one; he kept his hand on the stranger's shoulder as he straightened up and lifted his head to take in the watchful stares.

There was a tense quiet as the Order contemplated the new-comer, one who must have been greatly trusted to be granted welcome to Headquarters. Finally, Snape broke the silence, gesturing at the small crowd of people briefly.

"Ashley, this is the Order of the Phoenix."

To the rest of them he motioned to the young man next to him, the one with dark hair pulled back with a silk ribbon, the one with expensive black robes that they now noticed were ripped and singed in places, the one with ankle-high dragon-hide boots and the one with a ring on the second finger of his right hand. Dumbledore alone noticed that it bore the same coat-of-arms as the letter head of the hasty note. What Snape said next only confirmed the old wizard's suspicions.

"May I introduce Ashley Etienne Theon Snape Leclair. My son."

* * *

Of course, pandemonium ensued.

Most of the comments being made were quite tame in nature, generally ones of surprise and mild incredulity. Some, however, namely those made by one Sirius Black, were more offensive.

Snape, of course, was not unused to nor unprepared for such a reaction. Ashley, however, was not, nor was he in any mood to be dealing with them, and though no obvious outward sign was given, his father seemed to sense this for he quickly snapped out, "If you could perhaps save your inane commentary for a more appropriate time, medical attention for my son and myself would be appreciated."

Most of the Order looked appropriately abashed at this and Hestia Jones, the resident healer, rushed forwards with pink cheeks to tend to their wounds, as it were.

Ashley submitted his arm to the healer's examination in silence, in no mood to meet and greet these people. Snape observed him surreptitiously but said nothing, obviously waiting until they were in private before speaking of anything of importance.

Dumbledore looked on all of this with eyes that twinkled a merry blue, though his face seemed more lined than usual. "Perhaps Mrs. Weasley can show young Ashley to a room for the night," he suggested lightly, his eyes on Snape, clearly telling him to stay behind and explain just what had happened.

Snape nodded and looked to his son who was just having his arm bandaged by Hestia. "I will come speak with you once I have completed my report, Ashley," he said.

"Of course, Father," Ashley replied, standing and following Mrs. Weasley out of the room and up the stairs.

At his words, several eyebrows rose, as though they had not really expected Snape to have been speaking the truth when he claimed the lad as his son.

Snape's black eyes followed his child to the door and rested there for several long moments, lost in thought, oblivious or consciously ignoring the impatient shifting of the waiting Order members.

Finally, he turned to address the Headmaster and gave his report.

* * *

FLASHBACK

As Snape stepped out of the fireplace, he was immediately forced to duck as a bolt of blue-purple light came shooting straight for his head. Rolling behind a nearby sofa, he managed to shield his body from most of the flying debris caused by the exploding mantle behind him. One large chunk unfortunately struck him in the left temple, stunning him slightly. Reaching up to feel for blood, he hunkered down in his sheltered spot, thinking as quickly as he could and blinking quickly to clear his oddly foggy vision.

Taking a deep breath, Snape waited for a slight break in the fire before sneaking a look out from behind the sofa to take stock of the situation.

He had, inadvertently, chosen a particularly horrible place to shelter himself - not that there was much to choose from. The sofa he was currently hiding behind was near the centre of the room and slightly off to the side furthest from any doors. The stained-glass windows of what he now realized was the Entrance Hall were far too high up to be of any use. Currently there were four bodies lying strewn about the Hall in varying states of near-death. They all seemed to have been exposed to something noxious, as one of them was blue from asphyxiation and the other three were frothing at the mouth, eyes wide and white, limbs flailing in panic. Snape felt a sort of grim pride in what he assumed was his son's handiwork - Snape had taught him well in the fine art of potions and what was seen here was a prime example of the use of the Throttling Draught.

Forcing himself to focus on the present, Snape counted two figures in Death Eater garb to his left, each cached away in a small alcove where marble statues once stood, and three more to his right, sheltered behind the remains of the grand oak front door. As he watched, the back wall of the alcove behind one of those on the left slid to the side and two arms stretched out, pulling the man into the darkness beyond.

Crouching back down quickly behind his make-shift shelter, Snape reviewed what he knew. Of the nine opponents, four were confirmed dead or dying in the centre of the Hall, one was confirmed incapacitated in a hidden room. That left four to deal with, with one ally, Ashley, armed and, he gathered, in decent fighting condition. He had seen worse odds. In addition, it was clear that Ashley knew his surroundings well enough to use them to his advantage.

Just as he had this thought, the piece of blank wall behind him opened up slowly.

His wand in front of him, Snape waited. Shortly, a pale hand emerged and tossed something into the centre of the room. Instantly, the entire hall was filled with an overwhelming blackness. Peruvian Darkness Powder, was all he had time to think before a long-fingered hand grabbed his arm and shuffled them off into the cloud of false night.

From the sound of it, they were in a small enclosed tunnel that wound and twisted. A hand on the wall revealed it to be made of a smooth, cool stone, dry and clean. These halls were obviously well cared for.

Abruptly, they halted and his arm was released. A muttered moment later and wall-sconces lit, revealing a smalling, round stone room from which seven hallways branched off. Before him stood the pale-faced Ashley. Blood spatters covered his face and his fine robes were ripped. His expression was one of stone.

"Father," was all he said.

"Ashely," he replied. First things first. "Are you injured?"

"I am not," he replied.

"Then perhaps you will allow me to assist you in dispatching the final opponents," he asked.

"That would be much appreciated," the teen replied blankly.

"I have kept one for questioning," he commented as he led the way down another of the halls, to where, Snape knew not.

"Good," Snape said shortly. This may have been his son's first experience in a real battle situation, but it was most certainly not his own, and he wanted to know just exactly how they had managed to breach what he had been assured were unbreakable wards.

Shortly, Ashley led them to what appeared to be a dead-end wall, but with a murmured password and a press to a certain brick, the wall slid away like the others revealing the dark night outside. Just on the edge of the horizon, Snape could see the beginnings of dawn creeping out, and the air was thick and warm.

Following Ashley's lead along the wall, Snape soon recognized that they were on the eastern edge of the castle. They quickly came upon the corner leading to the north side of the building and paused to peer around just in time to see the three Death Eaters entering through the remains of the broken door. Ashley snarled under his breath but did not move, waiting for his father's word before going forward.

"Try to draw some of them out," Snape said softly, "but not too many at once - they have the advantage when we're out in the open. We want to keep them contained."

Ashley nodded briefly before sprinting off in the direction of some topiary. The last Death Eater going into the manor either heard or saw him; either way, he alerted his companions and they took off after him.

What they seemed to have forgotten, of course, was Snape. Big no-no.

He was waiting and a well-placed slicing curse neatly slit the throat of the third figure out the door. The first one had already pursued Ashley into the maze of hedges beyond, and the second immediately realized his disadvantage of being the only one left without cover. He was obviously of decent intelligence because he did exactly what Snape would've done: he bombarded the corner of the wall behind which Snape was crouching with a flurry of light blasting curses while backing towards the garden. Once he was close enough, he made a break for it.

Snape sighted down his wand - but swore to himself and lowered his hand, spell unfired. His aim at such a distance was not reliable and it would be a wasted effort. Resigning himself to the fact that for now he would have to trust Ashley to take care of himself, Snape turned back to the doorway that currently housed his two remaining opponents. They would not remain long.

Removing two vials from his cloak, Snape tossed one into the air and held it up with a quick spell, levitating it rapidly through the broken door. The Death Eaters behaved just as he thought they would: their first instinct was to shoot a blasting curse on sight of movement. The vial, of course, exploded, allowing the pale green gas within to spread and fill the room. By this time, Snape was at the door, and then sprinting through it towards them.

Their next reaction, having seen the effect the last potion had on their comrades, was to dissipate the perceived poison. How were they to know that it was nothing more than a harmless coloured cloud, aimed precisely for this, to distract and deceive? The further of the two Death Eaters conjured a wind to blow the green smoke back at Snape while the closer one performed a quick bubble-head charm. Keyword: quick. Meaning it would function fully by filtering air for a minute at most, if he was of average power; then he would be reduced to the air in the bubble itself, meaning another few seconds before he began breathing in his own carbon dioxide.

From there, it was as a dance.

Step. Launch a sticking curse at the closer of the two opponents' feet to ensure he always knew where he was.

Step. Roll under the Closer's cutting curse and the smoke to keep clear vision.

Step. Transfigure the Further's robes to cement to slow his movement.

Step. Roll under spell-fire again (something really had to be done about the Closer).

Step. Jelly legs jinx at the Further (now he was really in trouble).

Step. Half turn out of the way of a third spell. Throw an _expelliarmus _at the Closer (he was now immobile and without a wand). Complete the turn.

Step. Uncork the second vial with a flick of his wand.

Step. Toss the contents into the face of the Further who was just now managing to turn his wand towards himself to counter the transfigurations, but was too late to stop the acid now burning down his throat and through his trachea walls.

Step, slow. Disarm the Further from a distance, as always.

Walk back to the Closer man. Catch him with a fumbling hex before he can pull his feet out of his charmed shoes.

Watch from the corner as they both suffocate, one from lack of available oxygen, the other from the air passing in through his mouth but never reaching his lungs, exiting instead through the hole in his neck.

Slip back to the door. Check the area is secure before dashing in the direction of the garden. In the direction of his son.

This dance was done. Now on to the next.

* * *

The first sign that alerted to Snape that his son was in decent condition was a little hard to miss.

It appeared in the form of the blue-faced body of the first Death Eater. He was still being strangled by a fledgling Devil's Snare which normally would not have had the strength to defeat him, even without the wand that was currently being twirled idly by an unoccupied vine. That was normally, were it not for the animated unicorn-shaped topiary bush which was now behaving in a most un-unicorn-ish way. As it was, the man was pinned to the soft grass by its front hooves, its single, thorned horn tickling his cold chin threateningly and its tail tossing playfully.

It would seem that the Snape-obsession with asphyxiation ran true to its blood. Snape allowed a rare mile to grace his sallow face before moving on.

The first sign that Ashley was not doing as well as he might hope was much less evident.

It appeared not in a visible form at first, but a olfactory one: smoke. Snape made his way cautiously through the labyrinth of hedgerows, taking care to avoid any statues and topiary should Ashley have been a little over-zealous in his animations, and ducking around the venemous tantacula which had apparently been recently provoked.

Really, what was Madame thinking, planting such dangerous things near as curious a child as Ashley? Like a stunner to the head, he realized he would never be able to argue the point with her. He knew without having to ask, though, that what she would want now (read: be reprimanding with an intense barrage of sarcasm and insults) was for him to cease thinking about things which he could not change and _focus, you immense, unhygienic imbecile on looking after my illiterate heir._

His step quickened in the direction the smoke led. him. Soon enough, he came to what at first seemed to simply be a large courtyard, but he soon realized was at one time a rose garden. Currently it resembled more of a war zone. Great craters littered the ground and roses were strewn about, their petals great splashes of crimson, pink, yellow, and the occasional white against the fresh black soil. As he observed this scene a white stone bench crawled feebly by, making little headway with its two remaining limbs, while a marble, kelpie-shaped fountain in the corner put out the remains of the flames.

He noticed all this in the fraction on an instant it took him to assess the situation, but the bulk of his attention was drawn to the centre of the garden where Ashley stood, his robes smoking faintly. A large boxwood to one side was still smoldering.

Snape guessed that Ashley had been using guerrilla tactics thus far, as was his preferred style, but that the opposing Death Eater had tired of his methods and forced him into an open fight. He obviously thought that this was one he could more easily win, and had Snape not considered him a vital enemy, he would have lauded the man his tactics - they were the same he tended to employ when dueling Ashley.

That he had again had the same thoughts as the Death Eater worried him. It meant that he was no pushover. And while Ashley himself was the top of his dueling class, he had yet to defeat Snape in an open duel.

Currently, Ashley was doing an admirable job of distracting the Death Eater, tying his feet together with rose branches, blowing smoke at him, blasting loose earth into this eyes and sending babbling, tap-dancing, and over-powered cheering charms at him. While relatively harmless at first glance, any of these charms' effects could give a dueler the advantage needed to place a winning strike. In addition, they were low-powered and had simple wand movements and incantations, meaning that they could be fired at an extremely rapid pace. The disadvantage to this was that they were extremely easy to block with a good shield, as the Death Eater was doing now.

Snape quickly disillusioned himself, recognizing Ashley's tactic for what it was - a time sink. Employed when a dueler knows themselves to be outmatched in skill or power, or when a dueler is too injured or tired to win, it was the perfect tool when help is on the way and/or escape is not an immediate option. Snape guessed that Ashley had used much more energy than he had let on earlier in the fight - his note had, after all, read nine opponents _remaining_, and he had taken down six of them since then. Small wonder he was tired.

Moving quickly to flank the Death Eater before he could notice his presence with the telltale water-like effect of his disillusionment, Snape watched both their movements for an opening.

The disadvantage to using the strategy his son was was that it was easily recognized and also fairly simple to dispatch for an experienced fighter. They need only wait for the slightest gap in spell-casting to drop their shield and return on the offensive with powerful curses which would easily overwhelm their further-tired adversary.

Luckily, Ashley was no slouch and knew this counter-strike, of course. He therefore was keeping up such a stream of jinxes and hexes that his Latin was practically flowing one word from another.

Another sign that he was tired, conserving energy through speaking incantations aloud, thought Snape as he advanced quietly to the side, looking to get around the others' shield. He'd nearly reached the edge of his firing range when several things happened in quick succession and changed his course of direction drastically.

First: Ashley's unrelenting spew of spells relented as he paused momentarily for breath.

Second: The Death Eater raised his wand in such a characteristic movement that Snape felt horror such as he had never known rise in his gorge as he was suddenly made aware of the spell about to be cast and the identity of its proficient caster.

Third and most importantly: Ashley made no move to dodge, block, or otherwise avoid the soon-to-be incoming spell. Instead, he gathered what was a surprising amount of remaining strength for a final curse, this one one that few would dare at such a distance. For the killing curse was meant to be a close-range spell. It was why it was used so rarely. That, and it required an amount of power, mental discipline, practice, and desire to cast successfully that few possessed. Power which Snape thought Ashley to currently be depleted of, and practice which he was unaware he'd undertaken.

Snape's last thought before he threw himself sideways to knock his son's body out of the path of Dolohov's organ-slashing curse was that he really ought to have talked to Madame at greater length about Ashley's summer curriculum.

END FLASHBACK

* * *

"And?" Tonks said into the ensuing silence. "What happened next?"

Snape sneered at her as well as the enraptured faces of the surrounding Order members. "I would have thought that to be obvious. I have stated already that Ashley excels in guerrilla tactics, the principle skill needed for which is above-par aim. His curse hit its target, and I managed to knock him away in time. The curse nicked my left leg, resulting in a minor flesh wound and Ashely sustained a sprained wrist due to the unexpected landing."

Hestia Jones shook her head a bit, looking confused. "That was a big risk he took. Firing a killing curse when you're that tired? He might have missed and by then it would've been too late to dodge! Why didn't he just try to get away?"

"A question that I asked him (read: berated in a cold, hissing voice) immediately after ensuring our immediate safety."

"And?" someone asked.

"And his reply was most unsatisfactory. Apparently he'd been faking the degree of his exhaustion in order to spring his trap, which, while successful, would have resulted in his grievous injury should I not have been there. He admitted to being ignorant of my presence much as Dolohov was, but as soon as he recognized that Dolohov's intentions were not to kill instantly, he gambled his chances that he could score a hit and that I would be along shortly to heal him of whatever curse he would have taken."

Snape, uncharacteristically, gave a huff, and characteristically, glared malevolently around at them all.

"Your son holds great faith in your abilities to heal, much as he does in your skills in outnumbered combat, it seems," Dumbledore put it unexpectedly, his eyes twinkling again.

"Too great, perhaps," Snape barked out harshly, still scowling.

"And it seems he will risk everything to win," Dumbledore continued musing to himself.

"That is not atypical of him," Snape replied, his tone softening somewhat. "He can be very single-minded at times."

"Much like his father, then," the old headmaster commented gently.

Snape's eyes darkened once more at the mention of family. "He's taking Madame's death very hard indeed."

"Is that situation being handled?" Dumbledore asked delicately.

"All the arrangements were made before we left. He will wait the traditional six months before the funeral so that it can be held at the beginning of the winter holidays, just before Yule. It will not be a private affair and he wants as many of his friends as well as hers to be able to attend."

"And what of Ashley in the coming times?" Dumbledore's face was a blank of contemplation and thoughtfulness. Snape didn't like it when that happened and it gave him pause over his next words, though they remained unchanged.

"With the _mutt's_ permission (this with a sneer in Sirius' direction), he will stay here until either the end of the summer or the breach in the wards is found, though I suspect it will be the former as the wards are extensive and it will take many weeks to examine them thoroughly. And as for the school year..." Snape paused quietly before finishing. "I would appreciate it if he attended Hogwarts so that I might keep a closer eye on him. We do not yet know the reasons behind the attack - if it is the Leclair family that the Dark Lord is after, then he being the sole heir leaves him vulnerable and I do not trust to leave him with his headmaster. Karkaroff may be indebted to me, but if the Dark Lord wants something from him, he will not disobey. I would prefer to have Ashley where I can see him."

Snape sneered harshly to show his abhorrence for the situation his son was being forced into and tried not to worry too much about the triumphant gleam in Dumbledore's eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, Number 12 Grimmauld Place was as boisterous as ever. In addition to Sirius Black, the owner and Azkaban escapee, and Remus Lupin, werewolf, it currently housed the majority of the Weasley clan, Hermione Granger, a friend of the family, and Neville Longbottom, the Boy-Who-Lived.

When Neville was just a baby, barely a year old, his family had been attacked by Lord Voldemort's right hand, Bellatrix Lestrange, and her cohorts. His parents had been driven to madness by her infamous cruciatus curse, but while Neville had shown evidence of suffering under the same spell, his mind remained intact. It was therefore speculated that Neville was in possession of great power, a theory that made him famous.

The orphan had been taken in by his Grandmother, a forbidding woman who put up with no nonsense but was proud of her grandson's fame. The result was a somewhat shy but not downtrodden boy who had so far shown no particularly stupendous magical talent in any field save for Herbology.

Still, Neville's years at Hogwarts had been fraught with danger and it was just at the end of his fifth year, a little over a year ago now, that he'd been lured off the school grounds and into the hands of You-Know-Who himself in order to participate in a ritual that resulted in the Dark Lord returning to corporeal form. He had been stripped of his body in the casting of a botched spell on Halloween night the same year Neville's family was attacked, or so the story went.

No one really knew what happened that night in the Potter home, but everyone agreed that something about the powerful couple and their baby stopped him, for he was not seen for over a decade since. The lack of solid hypotheses was due to the fact that neither the Dark Lord's nor the Potter boy's bodies were ever found.

At any rate, since the ceremony involving Neville's blood, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had been back in action, though he'd been acting quietly so as not to alert the ignorant Ministry of his return to power. One of his first moves had been to free the many of his followers who were incarcerated in Azkaban prison, including Bellatrix and Dolohov. The breakout had been attributed by the Ministry and the press to Sirius Black, who was innocent of his convictions of murder, but still wanted by the authorities and forced to remain in hiding.

Most recently, Voldemort had been caught attempting to obtain a prophecy which apparently held the secret to his defeat from the Department of Mysteries in the Ministry of Magic itself. Luckily, a member of the Order of the Phoenix, Dumbledore's renegade vigilante group, who had been posted to keep watch had managed to alert the rest of the Order to his presence. Dedalus Diggle, the guard in question, was the only casualty in the ensuing running battle.

More injuries were sustained than otherwise might have been, though, due to the presence of Neville, Hermione, and Ron and Ginny Weasley, who had managed to get themselves to the Ministry and ended up more of a hindrance than a help, as had been their intent. It was for this reason as well as for safety's sake that they were now under house and magic arrest and on cleaning duty at Number 12.

The single good thing that came of the fight was the revelation of Voldemort's return to the Minster of Magic himself, who had arrived on the scene just as You-Know-Who and Bellatrix disapparated with the stolen prophecy. The Wizarding World of Great Britain had since then been in something of a state of panic. It was only the strong, calming words of Dumbledore and the faith pinned on an unfortunate Neville that remained as beacons of hope in the face of what could possibly be a war as bad as the last one.

Voldemort had been taking keen advantage of this and had sought to perpetuate the climate of fear by staging minor successful attacks with Dementors and, as recently as this summer, Giants. The enormity of the task for the Ministry to contain the knowledge of magic from the muggles was increasing weekly, and it was their recent call for foreign aid that may have spurred Voldemort's attacks against the politically affluent witches and wizards of Western Europe who were pushing to lend Britain succor.

Though where the Leclairs fit into that description, I will never know, thought Ashley grimly as he girded himself before descending the stairs to the noisy kitchen of Grimmauld Place. He fought to keep his nose from wrinkling at the rambunctiousness he could hear from those dining within.

He paused with a sigh outside of the door. He really did not feel like going in and being amongst people, especially these people, but he felt even less like being lectured by his father about looking after himself later on, which he would most assuredly do if he discovered that Ashley had neglected to keep up with meals _and_ sleep.

With a last scowl at the tasteless gloom of the decor, Ashley blanked his face and slipped quickly and soundlessly into the room. Quiet and polite and unnoticeable. That was what he would be, and this would be as smooth and painless as possible.

He should have known better.

* * *

Ashley stood just inside the doorway for a moment, observing the scene within.

Four red-headed children sat at the middle of the long, wooden table in the low-ceilinged room, chatting loudly and eating gustily away at the heavy English breakfast before them. The tallest of them in particular seemed to have a voracious appetite and was unafraid of showing it, to the slight distaste of his bushy-haired companion. He made some comment (with his mouth still full) to her and the mousy-looking fellow next to her, to which she half-grimaced half-smiled in response, revealing buck-teeth and surprisingly sweet dimples.

These must be the Weasleys, Granger, and Longbottom, from his father's descriptions. The Boy-Who-Lived was shockingly unimpressive-looking, Ashley mused, but appearances can be deceiving as he knew only too well, and he would have been a fool to take the tales of heroic deeds without a grain of salt anyways. And Ashley made a point of doing his best to be labeled 'fool' as rarely as possible.

Down the table to one end were four Order members that Ashley recognized from the night before: the young healer, Jones he believed was her name; the even younger metamorph who, he noted with interest, wore auror robes and flaunted her talent with hair a shocking pink; a large dark-skinned man, also in auror robes, whose name he did not know; and the father of the Weasley rabble, who had a patient but tired-looking face. His wife, Ashley noted with a glance, was wearing a slightly rumpled, second-hand robe but was bustling away merrily at the stove and filling everyone's tea cups with a kind smile.

Not well-to-do, he decided, but a lively family who did well with what they had. And a high level of talent in the three eldest children, according to his father. He would have to watch and see if the younger years were as lucky, he mused, and saw with interest that the girl easily distracted her tall brother while one twin slipped something into this tea and the other tied his shoelaces together under the table. A fascinating dynamic, and one he would have to keep close track of if he was to survive here for two months.

His attention finally turned to the man at the far end of the table who sat slightly apart from the others. He was, Ashley noted impassively, watching him observe them out of the corner of his eye. The boy continued to examine the man while his presence went unannounced, testing to see what he would do while taking in his appearance. Tatty robe, but clean; unshaven, greying hair; lined face, though he believed his father had said they were of an age; and - ah. Amber eyes. So this was the werewolf. No wonder he'd noticed him come in.

Just as he concluded his initial analysis and was about to introduce himself, he heard a set of bounding footsteps right outside the door and sidestepped into the shadows, just in time to avoid being slammed into by the owner of the house himself.

"Morning, everyone!" Sirius Black cried joyfully and plopped himself down next to the werewolf. "Morning, Moony."

"Good morning, Sirius," the other replied with a mild smile. "Did you sleep well?"

"Like a mooncalf," Black said, but his grin quickly turned to a scowl. "Despite having Snape's spawn harboured under my roof. It's bad enough having to be stuck back in this house, but now I've got to put up with Greasy Git, Jr, too."

"Snape's got a son?" asked one of the Weasley twins eagerly, causing most heads at the table to turn. The exceptions were the Weasley elders, who exchanged concerned looks.

"And he's staying here?" the other twin cut in. "What for?"

"Yeah," Sirius went on, obviously glad to find someone who shared his opinion, or at least his interest. "The whelp's relatives from his mother's side died and Snape stuck him here. Poor brat's probably actually grateful, with that slime ball for a father." He turned to the werewolf. "Can you imagine, Moony? Snivellus, a _dad_?"

The amber-eyed man was then put in a very difficult position, Ashley thought to distract himself from the pit of roiling rage that was trying to lash out of him, that was absolutely _begging_ him to sharpen his tongue and _lance this pathetic creature to the_ _WALL_. But anyways. Would the werewolf agree with his friend and the majority opinion, thus gaining himself some small popularity when his kind was so frequently unaccepted? Or would he be wise enough, wary enough of Ashley's expressionless figure in the corner of the room (still unnoticed by all save himself), to dare to disagree?

Luckily for him, he never had to voice his thoughts as the Weasley mother chose that moment to step in.

"Sirius Black! That poor boy just lost his grandmother! I can't believe you'd say such things. And I'm sure that his father loves him very much." She turned to her children. "And I want you lot to be nice to him! He doesn't know anyone and he must be feeling very lonely right now! I mean it Ronald Weasley," she said threateningly, for the tallest redhead had just rolled his eyes dramatically.

"Alright, alright" he grumbled. "But only if he doesn't act like a poncey git."

This made his mother scowl and Black grin, but the girl Weasley spoke up, preventing any reprimand or congratulations from being made. "It's odd, really, if you think about it."

"What is?" asked the now green-headed auror.

"Well, for Snape to have a son," she said thoughtfully, "that would involve him _sleeping_ with somebody, wouldn't it?"

Far from being offended this time, Ashley was actually quite amused by her comment. For, indeed, his father had to be the least sexual creature he'd ever come across. His amusement did not last long, however.

"You're right," Ronald said slowly, as though the thought of a child being produced by sex was novel to him. Suddenly, he let out a great guffaw. "Oi, Neville! Who do you reckon would sleep with _Snape_!"

Longbottom looked a little unnerved at being asked his opinion, and entirely uncomfortable with the whole situation which was a small credit to him, Ashley thought, but it would be more greatly appreciated had he actually _done_ something about it. But like the werewolf, 'Moony', he appeared to be too cowardly to voice the wrong opinion, and like the older man, Ashley never actually go the chance to find out if he was, because he was never given a chance to respond as Ronald continued.

"Bet she was ugly as a troll! I mean, she must've been pretty desperate to bag _Snape _of all people!"

None of the females in the room seemed to appreciate this last comment at all, but by this time, Ashley had had enough. His pride and devotion to his family could only take so much before his sense of diplomacy snapped, and as he recognized that he was rapidly approaching that point, he felt that it would be best to step in before he lost all control.

"I believe that that is my late mother you are speaking of," he said silkily, stepping menacingly from the shadows and unconsciously reminding them all very much of his father. "And I assure you that she was considered quite beautiful."

Total, blissful silence.

The look of horror on Ronald's face was worth every ounce of restraint he was calling upon to not rip the offending boy to shreds, and the uncertainty of Black's expression as he wondered how much he'd heard was almost too much for him. But he maintained his facade of blankness, neither furious nor forgiving as he stood motionless by the door.

The Weasley mother was the first to react. "Ronald _Weasley_! You apologize, RIGHT _NOW_!"

Ronald's head was slowly turning a glorious red, starting from his collar and creeping up his cheeks right to the tips of his freckled ears. His twin brothers, Ashely was amused to note, were shaking with fits of silent laughter.

"Er... I, er... What I meant was... Er... Sorry," he finished lamely, his pasty skin now lobster red.

Ashley stared at him in silence for several moments, enjoying making him squirm, but wanted to remain the wounded party in the others' eyes, and so curtly said, "Apology accepted," and seated himself in the remaining space between the girl Weasley and the werewolf.

"Here, dear," said Mother Weasley, pouring him some tea and handing him a plate laden with toast and eggs.

Ashley took her gesture for what it was and smiled at her in genuine gratitude.

"Thank you, Mrs. Weasley."

"Oh, it's nothing, dear," she said, flushing lightly. "You take as much as you want and be sure not to let my brood bully you out of your share."

Ashley merely smiled mildly and most people joined him in going back to their breakfasts.

"So mate," said one twin from across the table with an amiable grin.

"We never," continued the other, who also seemed oblivious to the lingering awkwardness.

"Caught your name," finished the first.

Ashley decided then that he would from now on treat the twins as a single entity: Twins Weasley, or TW for expediency's sake.

He smiled a little to make nice with them when all he felt like doing was going back to his room. Or better still, back to his home.

"How remiss of me. It's Leclair." He held out his hand and they both shook it at the same time. He did not bat an eye and shook firmly back, making their grins widen.

"Bit of an odd name that, isn't it?" Ronald asked, his mouth full once more and his vocabulary obviously devoid of the word 'tact'.

The Granger girl smacked him across the back of his head.

"It's his last name, idiot," the girl Weasley told him, rolling her eyes. "It's French." She turned to Ashley and smiled in a friendly way. "If we're going to be living together we should probably get on a first name basis. I'm Ginny." She stuck out her hand and Ashley shook it. Her grip was firm.

"Ashley, then," he replied. "Although I prefer Leclair."

"Oh," Ginny looked rather taken aback.

Ashley moved to reassure her with an inward sigh. "It is what everyone at home calls me. In France, it is rare to use first names. Only my father and the few acquaintances of his that I have met ever call me Ashley. Even among friends and schoolmates surnames are used, except when differentiating between family members."

"Oh," she said again, but this time seemed much reassured. Thank Circe. He did not need to make enemies this early on. Especially ones with six older brothers, all of age and all too eager to hate him just because his father could be a bastard when he felt like it. "Well, Leclair it is then," she said amiably.

"Fred! George!" TW said at once.

"Ron," the gangly teen grunted.

"I'm Hermione."

"Neville." The Longbottom boy looked somewhat apprehensive, but Ashley did not react outwardly to his name and the fame it brought with it, and the moment passed.

"It's a pleasure, I'm sure," he said, nodding to those who were out of his reach. The adults at the far end had gone back to their own conversation and so did not take part in the introductions, though Ashley caught the young metamorph auror sneaking looks at him every so often.

"I don't believe we met last night," came a gravelly voice from his left, and he turned to see the amber eyes of the werewolf looking at him apologetically. Well, sorry was a word, nothing else. Proof of solidity was much more tangible and therefore reliable. Ashley was still waiting for it, but would not continue to do so for much longer.

"I'm Remus Lupin," the man continued.

Ashley merely nodded.

"Sirius Black," barked the dark-haired man roughly, looking almost challengingly at him from across the table.

Ashley decided to play the confuse and confund card. He would be unerringly polite and Black would never know the extent of the stories his father had told him. The uncertainty would frustrate him to no end. Hm. Ashley liked that.

"Thank you, Mr. Black, for allowing me to stay in your home."

"Just Sirius is fine," he replied gruffly again, looking away. Heheheh.

"So how come you don't go by Snape's name, then?" Sirius asked after a moment, a strange glint in his eyes. Ooh. _Not_ very friendly.

"Madame wished it." Ashley shrugged. "And so, I am Leclair."

"She really had him by the balls, eh?" Sirius said, that odd glint still there.

"Sirius," Lupin admonished quietly, but said no more than that. Two strikes, werewolf.

Ashley did his best to diffuse the situation by shrugging again, though at this point he was wondering why he should even bother. "Madame had every man she met by the balls." He paused; then: "Every woman, too, come to think of it."

TW and Girl Weasley laughed and Longbottom and Granger smiled a little uncertainly, but Ashley only shook his head, reminiscing fondly. They thought he was joking; they had obviously never met Madame.

At that moment, Snape swept in with a swirl of his rain-drenched cloak; odd, for when Ashley had glanced out of the window just now, it had been overcast, but not raining. He had obviously come from abroad, then.

Ashley leapt to his feet as quickly as grace would allow, much to the shock of his new acquaintances.

"Father," he greeted him with a solemn and respectful nod. He then stayed perfectly still, following his father's tense form with only his eyes. He must be stressed to not reply to his greeting immediately, and lost in tumultuous thoughts if his sharp gestures to dry his cloak by the fire were anything to go by. He stared into the coals for only a moment longer before turning abruptly to catch the whole room watching him, waiting for him to respond to his son.

"Ashley," he barked. "Come." And swept out of the room.

"Yes, father," he said at once and stepped back from the table, turning to Mother Weasley. "Mrs. Weasley, thank you for a delicious meal."

"Oh that's alright, dear," she responded, looking warily after Snape.

"If you'll excuse me," he said to the table at large and moved to join his father who he could see was waiting for him impatiently in the hall. No, the news his father bore must be poor indeed.

Had he looked back, he might have seen the dark look Sirius Black was giving their twin retreating figures.


	3. Chapter 3

Ashley followed his father's tall, dark silouhette down a hallway towards the front entrance, but they turned off it before reaching the door to enter what appeared to have been a small parlour. Perhaps once used as a floo entrance, the room was small and square with only a molding carpet to cover the dark wood floors, and a single set of matching love seat and settee before the grand fireplace which was graced with a Black crest above the mantle. Dark, dusty curtains hung limply around the single window which Snape took care not to touch when he looked out onto the grey street below.

Ashley closed the door quietly behind him but took no more than two long steps into the room before becoming still once more, standing a silent vigil to his father's restlessness. Ashley did not know what to make of his father's behaviour - the more stressed or cornered his father felt, the more still and controlled he normally became. It was when he relaxed that he allowed for excess movement, expression and speech. It was the one tell that Ashley had to read his father's behaviour; otherwise he generally showed nothing unless he specifically wanted you to see it.

As much as Ashley tried to imitate this, it was much more of a conscious effort on his part than the naturally developed behaviour of one who had acted as a spy through a war between two of the most talented wizards of the age. So this drastic change in his father's ingrained habits unnerved him.

Eventually, Snape broke the silence with a lung-deep sigh and moved to sit on the settee. Ashley, too, approached the love seat but did not take it until his father was settled. Pulling out his wand when Snape did not, he swiftly conjured a tea set and poured his father's favoured drink into two cups, then served them both clear. Snape took his with a nod and for a while they both sipped the steaming liquid, lost in their respective thoughts.

After some moments, Snape removed his cherry wand from his robe pocket and Ashley watched raptly as it wove in complicated patterns of swirls, swishes, and the occasional twist through the dank air. He could recognize and name the purpose of every ward his father raised, but as time went on, his curiosity increased: what could be so important that so many precautions were needed? Especially in a house placed under such a heavy secrecy charm as the fidelius? His father's wand soon turned towards its caster and the movements began again. Nervous now, Ashley followed suit, checking his person for listening, scrying, spying and tracker charms. To his great surprise and consternation, he found one each of the first and last, and after a more extensive search and purge, had removed both them and a hard-to-detect, but mild, cheering charm.

Finally complete, he looked up at his father, one eyebrow raised. Snape raised an eyebrow in return, and Ashley took this classic Father-look to be an invitation to speak.

_f_"I understand the need for caution, but there was one thing I did not comprehend."_f_

_f_"Oh,"_f_ his father replied, eyebrow still raised, though in amusement now at the language change.

_f_"Yes. Why the imperturbable charm?"_f_

_f_"Ah. The Weasley twins consider themselves to be something of amateur inventors, and their latest project is, I understand, the so-called Extendable Ear. Rather self-explanatory."_f_

Ashley's other eyebrow crawled up to join the first in his shock. That was practically a compliment. If he didn't know any better, he'd say that TW had actually impressed his father. A difficult feat indeed, and one that he would never admit to, to be sure.

_f_"And the imperturbable charm prevents them from breaching the room's borders, I presume,"_f_ Ashley murmured, more to himself than to his silent father. Snape did not like it when obvious questions were asked of him and Ashley had long since learned that the best way to avoid the barb of his father's tongue was to act the fool the least amount possible. And that was to say nothing of Madame.

_f_"However,"_f_ he continued his train of thought, _f_"the charm would do nothing to prevent the use of a device already in place, would it?"_f_

His father thought for a moment, then smiled slowly, an expression, rare as it was in its appearances, that never failed to make Ashley glow inside with warmth. It was a look of pride.

"_Accio Extendable Ears_!" Snape said firmly in his low baritone and instantly two long pieces of flesh-coloured string zoomed towards him, one from the corner behind the curtain, the other from a crack in the ceiling.

Snape caught them both deftly and handed one to his son to examine. Ashley felt along the length of the device thoughtfully, feeling for the charms woven into its threads.

"Hm," he murmured, impressed despite himself. It was quite complicated work, but he guessed it was done using a very educated system of trial and hazard than by actual plan, for he could note several places where the modified banishing charms could be improved, and the blueprint could be better organized for longer-lasting charms. Still, the idea itself was quite ingenious.

Looking up, he saw his father beginning the motions for a contained flame charm to incinerate the offending spyware when a sudden idea came to him, the mischievous sort that he rarely acted on, but this one, he thought, they would both benefit from and enjoy. With a staying hand on his father's wrist and an impish grin, Ashley moved quickly to the edge of the fraying carpet and, using a mild severing charm, swiftly had two lengths of its thick thread cut to the same length as the Ears. A simple colouring charm, and the copies were impossible to tell from the originals, but would not function at all, of course. Last, a careful banishing spell put each copy back in one of the original places, and the Ear in his hand went into his pocket.

It all took no more than a minute and the room was now secure, Ashley had a new toy, and TW would never know.

Snape scoffed lightly when he saw his son's plan, but followed his example in pocketing the Ear in his own cloak, his eyes shining a little at his son's pleasure and cunning.

Finally, they were ready and the discussion could begin.

* * *

Snape, as always, was both elegant and efficient with his time and speech.

"The Dark Lord claims to have had no hand in the attack."

Ashley sat back abruptly and exhaled sharply through his nose, looking away to show his disbelief and anger.

Snape leaned forward, arms resting on his knees, hands clasped loosely before him. "I believe him."

Ashley's nostrils flared slightly and his green eyes flickered over to examine his father's black ones but his face betrayed no emotion.

Perhaps seeing something of the lingering incredulity in his son, Snape chose to elaborate, all the while watching Ashley's nonchalant pose and facial features closely.

"The attack made no sense strategically. The families in France are much older, larger, more numerous, and stronger both magically and politically than the few remaining ones left here in Britain. You know this. You know that the Dark Lord is too weak still to form any sort of threat to what is a well-established and deeply-ingrained pureblood faction. His only interest lies in discouraging those who seek to actively oppose him by lending support to Fudge's meagre attempt at defence.

What you do not know, nor, indeed, does anyone, is what the Dark Lord's plans are once Britain is his, though it would be foolish to assume that he will stop there. It is my personal belief, however, that he will not seek an outright offense against the continent - indeed, that he would never attempt such a thing. In fact, I suspect that he aims to emulate France's structure and policies, to get Britain out of its current state of insular stagnation. I predict that if anything, his attack will be less physical and much more political.

If he can usurp his way to the head of both France and Britain's magical bases, then he will be in a position to take Germany. Italy and Greece will resist viciously to any attempt at the same, of course, but the current Spanish government is as useless as our own and the East is so disjointed that it will likely cave quickly, and by then it will be far too late for the South. After Europe, I know not where he will seek domination, Russia, perhaps, and then perchance America, but those would be the logical steps towards taking this continent, and so far, that is all he shows signs of wanting: domination and not extermination.

But the tallest hurdle, the key to the puzzle, will without a doubt be France. Without her, he stands no chance against the Germans, who will no doubt gather all their resources from Austria and the Balkans to oppose him. But with her, he stands a chance of buying enough time to faction them, and with central Europe under his power, the far West and East will quickly follow and the resistance in the South will not be enough.

However, winning France over will present no simple task. I know as well as any man how much the French cherish their history and their independence. So he will be extraordinarily cautious in how he approaches them. None of the major families have as yet made much noise against him, and most of those who he _is_ targeting were unpopular to begin with. He does not wish to offend any powerful factions that he need not and risk upsetting his chances for a peaceful succession.

Madame was not known for her fondness of Britain for reasons that you and I both know. Rather the opposite, in fact, and I know that her opinions have influenced your own to some extent. Her disdain for the current British Ministry was all but tacit consent towards the Dark Lord's actions. In any case, the attack against her was nonsensical. You are well aware of the power she held in many circles, of the respect she brought the Leclair name. And now she lies dead. Her death will cause a great stir, one of resentment, worry, and anger. It is attention such as this that he does not want. He does not wish to be seen by those whose heads will raise at this as unreasonable or unable to control his own people, as he will now appear. It. Just. Does. Not. Make. Sense."

Snape sighed again, letting his head fall into his hands in an uncharacteristic show of exhaustion. But when he spoke once more, his voice was steady.

"And all that is not to mention the Dark Lord's anger when I put the topic forth, thinking he knew. Luckily, I was not alone with him and he deemed others more deserving of pain than I who had brought him news yet heard by few, but soon to be known by many. The thought of discord and disobedience within his ranks agitates him; his fury was tangible and, I believe, genuine.

Nor was he best pleased at the loss of Dolohov, though his vexation at that was not as severe as it might previously have been. The Dark Lord, in fact, wrote his death off as a deed well done due to his surprising change in behaviour. Madame was clearly off limits, and yet Dolohov lead what was an obviously well-planned attack. Dolohov's disobedience was not uncharacteristic, though never to this degree. But he always enjoyed a challenge, so it was concluded, at least amongst those gathered there, that it was Dolohov's stay in Azkaban that had exacerbated his need for rebellion. And it would not do to have an inner-circle member who lacked restraint. The other, minor followers' lives were, of course, considered negligible.

I, however, do not buy the common theory. In my experience, Dolohov always knew where to draw the line when it came to the Dark Lord's temper. It was why he was able to get away with as much disobedience as he did. A stint of fear and misery would not have erased that intelligence to such a degree, I believe.

What I do know is that Dolohov's greatest weakness was his susceptibility to the power of suggestion. The odd word here or there could easily be taken as a tacit challenge or even permission. It was what drew him to the Dark Lord's side, and when combined with his talent for the Dark Arts, brought him so quickly into the inner circle. He would be easy to manipulate if one went about it in the right way. I would hypothesise that someone else identified this vulnerability in him, and used it to get at the Leclair family without using a direct hand. What I cannot guess is who would have done such a thing, and why.

In any case, the Dark Lord is now looking for ways to make up the faux-pas to the French power-houses, to show his remorse at Madame's death. He has so far established two ways of doing this.

The first is something which has already been in the planning for quite some time - it is merely a convenience that it should occur now. The Tri-Wizard Tournament. You may or may not have come across it in your studies, but it is a contest between the three great Western institutes of magic: Durmstrang, Beauxbatons, and Hogwarts. Each school produces a representative who then competes in three challenges, or tasks, to determine a winner who earns glory for their school and country, and personally receives a prize of one thousand galleons.

It is, first and foremost, a chance for the host country to show off for the others and, if they so choose, to show them a good time and improve international relations. As it happens, Hogwarts is this year's host.

The second method by which the Dark Lord seeks to appease France's ruffled feathers is by attending Madame's funeral in December. Himself."

At these words, Ashley noticed that his father's hands had balled themselves into fists so tight that all the blood had drained out of them, leaving them an even starker white than usual against the crisp blackness of his robes.

Ashley himself was by this time beyond reacting and stared blankly at the wall behind his father's head, unmoving.

Snape's voice became tight.

"He has developed a sort of... _interest_ in you. He asked directly who had dealt Dolohov's final blow; I did not dare lie outright in his presence. I tried to downplay it, but he was intrigued by your victory over Dolohov and your tactic of stand and kill, and he knew that you were my son which was an intrigue all of its own because I am not known for frequenting the company of others. He asked what the others present knew of you, and of course Lucius had to step forward. He mentioned your prowess on the race track, of Durmstrang's special allowances for your talent. And he mentioned your dueling awards, of course. And that you are the only remaining Leclair is not unworthy of note, needless to say."

Snape's eyes closed.

"He has directed that you are to attend Hogwarts this year, in order to better protect you from any further mystery attackers. He knows that the eyes of France are now on him and on Hogwarts because of the tournament. He is determined not to make another mistake."

Snape's brow furrowed and his lips twisted into a snarl.

"Rosier, curse him to Blackness, is so eager to gain favour and fill his brother's spot (though he hasn't half the talent) that he will say anything and everything. This was a case of the latter. He explained that many of the French feel cheated when in your pictures in the papers from your victories in dueling competitions, and particularly those from on the racetrack, you appear wearing Durmstrang's colours. They know that it's a deal you had to make with the school in exchange for the time to train, but they still feel that part of their victory is stolen from them and the East has taken any chance it can to rub it in their faces, the Germans especially.

It is the Dark Lord's plan to restore this victory to the French by stealing back from Durmstrang. He wants a show of unity between Britain and France."

Snape opened his eyes and agonized obsidian met fear-filled emerald.

"He wants you to compete in the Tri-Wizard Tournament for Hogwarts. And he wants you to win."

* * *

"Draco will be _so_ crushed," was all Ashley could think to say.

"_Ashley_!" his father said harshly, his eyes flashing and his face all hard lines of anger.

Apparently humour was the incorrect reaction to such news. And he was right really, as always - the situation was serious indeed. So much attention was, as ever, not a good thing. In this case, particularly so, when considering the calibre and intent of those whose attention had been, and would continue to be, drawn to him. For those such as the Snapes who worked to the greatest effect in subtleties and shadows, the circumstances were dire ones.

"I apologize, Father," Ashely said contritely. "What I intended to say was that such attention from the Dark Lord will only draw the ire of his other followers."

Snape looked at him through narrowed eyes as though to check the veracity of his contrition, then turned away with a sharp snort of air, apparently satisfied.

"That is no more than to be expected. Lucius will no doubt explain the situation to Draco, and while he will be put out, he will not dare to cross the Dark Lord's plans for you." His gaze darkened. "Others, however, may not be so wise. They will see this only as favour, and seek to unseat you, to humiliate you, and sabotage your every move. You will need to tread carefully around both them and their children."

Ashley nodded. "Will you tell Dumbledore of his plan?"

Snape's face twisted again, though this time with an expression that Ashley could not decipher. "I will have to if I am to continue my role as spy and remain under his protection. He's got both myself, and Karkaroff through me, on rather short leashes.

Ashley had never heard his father sound so bitter about his tight position.

"Were he to find out by some other means, it would meant the loss of that protection for both you and me, and while I may not always agree with him, Dumbledore is a powerful figure with nearly unparalleled connections in our world. And not only here in Britain."

Snape looked his son straight in the eyes.

"You must not allow yourself to be indebted to him if there is any way on this Earth to avoid it, Ashley. They are both powerful wizards, but more than that, they are powerful men. The Dark Lord demands obedience and punishes with death. The Headmaster demands devotion and punishes with condemnation. I have yet to decide which is the more dangerous master, which the worse fate."

He turned his head away, his long hair swinging to cover his face from view.

"Survive, Father," Ashley said vehemently, distressed to see his father display his worries and regrets so openly. It made him fear what was to come, if not even Severus Snape could stay composed. "Always survive, if only to seize a later opportunity and escape with your freedom."

"I once thought as you do," his father whispered, almost as though he was not aware that he spoke aloud. "But surviving is not living, my son, as time has taught me well."

His head turned to Ashley's and a pale hand shot out to Ashley's unflinching face to grip his chin. Black eyes examined every crease and curve of his adolescent features, as though to memorize them.

"And yet it was what gave me you..." Snape continued and for the briefest of moments, Ashley thought he saw tears in those eyes but then he blinked, dropped his hand, and the moment was over.

His mask of control firmly back in place, Snape watched his son's frame relax minutely in unconscious relief at his returned assurance.

"The Dark Lord, Dumbledore, and the Death Eaters' children are not the only ones you must be wary of. There is also the matter of Dumbledore's followers. While the Headmaster will see you as an opportunity to control a valuable pawn of the Dark Lord's, many in the Order will see only a tool for dominance of the Dark, and that you are my son will not endear you to them. And for all that they preach the Light and claim to be on the side of Righteousness, there is much they are willing to do so long as it is in the name of the Greater Good. That will most certainly include making you disappear, or undermining you at the very least."

Ashley breathed in deeply, then let it out slowly before schooling his face and nodding.

Snape nodded sharply back in approval. "I will help you, of course, but I cannot be with you always and the tasks you must complete without my aid. I warn you to speak of any of this only with those who have your complete trust, though it would be best to keep it to yourself in its entire if you can."

In a rare show of affection, Snape reached out the same long-fingered hand as before and gripped Ashley's arm steadily just above the wrist. "You can do this, Ashley. It is a fine line to walk, to be sure, but you have been well prepared. All you can do now is focus on your studies and concentrate on the tournament. The rest will be dealt with as it comes."

After a moment, Snape released him and stood, facing the fireplace. The discussion was clearly over, for now, at least, and he moved on to other matters. "All of Madame's elves have committed suicide out of grief, it seems. Conveniently, this now leaves no leads on any secrets she might have kept. The only one who survived was the one charged with your personal protection, Verre, I believe?"

Ashley nodded shortly. He had never had a very strong connection with Verre, who was much more suited to running a home or manor than to being on guard duty. They'd both always known that he was only waiting for Madame's favourite, Rosemary, to die. He would miss Coutelle, though, who always snuck him bits form the kitchen when he was feeling lonely, and Coussin, who would patiently throw rubber balls into the air for him for hours without complaint so that he could practice his aim.

"Unfortunately, this leaves you with the dubious task of selecting a new staff, on top of everything else. I took the liberty of having Roker pick out several prospectives. I hope you approve his choices."

Ashley took the parchment his father handed him and read the list of elf names, the scroll detailing their descriptions, age, their relations if they came in groups, and their specialties. The list went on for some ways, but most were elves who were getting on in age or had obviously worked with one family for a significant period of time, neither of which were attractive traits to Ashley. He was looking for new blood who were less set in their ways and more open to taking initiative. It would be some time before he would be settled and secure enough to run his own home in detail, he suspected, and until then, wanted a staff who were more self-sufficient. Eventually, though, he made his choices.

"Take on the twins, Plumette and Plumeau, and the family of three, Velour, Clochette and Pantouffle. Then contact the Malfoys and have them send over Button and Casey, who I know they are trying to get rid of because they're selling their home in the Alps. They're multi-lingual and they're experienced with running a place; the Malfoys would accept nothing but the best, after all. But their contact with the family was limited. They'll do nicely, especially if you tell them there's room for promotion. As soon as they feel they've got a handle on the place, Verre's getting clothes. One of them will replace him as head elf, the other would likely be second."

"And for yourself?"

Ashley looked back at the parchment for a moment before pointing to a personal elf, young, just out of training, and unusually strong in power with no particular specialty as yet determined.

"I'll take Glassel. Hopefully he's young enough to still have some remnants of independent thought."

Snape nodded mutely, made some notes on the parchment, and stuck it back in his robes. When his hand came back out, however, it was not empty.

"Mercure brought this for you. He was most distressed to not be able to find you himself."

Ashley smiled and took the thick envelope, guessing correctly as to the contents, and more importantly, the identity of the sender.

"And this, I had made for you," Snape continued, and handed Ashely a wide black band of elastic fabric upon which was embroidered a simple fleur-de-lis in silver.

Ashley accepted it wordlessly, his face suddenly stony.

"Thank you, Father." And in his voice was some depth of emotion that Snape obviously picked up on, for he clasped his shoulder briefly, said a simple, "I shall return when I can," and swept from the room, leaving behind his son standing alone in front of the draughty fireplace, clutching the black fabric in his fist and wishing for the first time in his life that he could weep for all that he had lost.


	4. Chapter 4

_Cher Etienne..._

Ashley sank into the words like into a bank of sand after the survival of a storm at sea. Where he was once tossed about like a bark amidst tumultuous and chaotic dangers, he now felt warm and solid, grounded. The greater powers of wind and wave were beyond his control, but while his fate may seem out of his hands and in those of beings larger than himself, how he reacted to what destiny threw his way was his to decide. And he would not allow himself to be controlled so easily again - he would from now on remain the Captain of his own Soul.

* * *

Despite Ashley's determination to not let the situation overwhelm him, the following week was a difficult one. Restricted to the confines of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place and unwilling to enforce upon himself the company of its inhabitants, he spent much of his first week there refurbishing the room he was given.

His first action was to disinfect the place from top to bottom. By the time he was finished, nothing but the bare wood floors, walls and ceiling remained, as well as a sturdy matching set of dark-stained wardrobe, desk, and high-backed chair. The green velvet curtains framing the lone window had taken such a beating from the de-infestation of doxies that took him an entire morning, that they now let in more light than they blocked. The brightness added much to the room, Ashley told himself. The rug seemed to have soaked up so much ambient magic that it now contained some form of ragged sentience and the whole thing had to be scrapped, though not before it could take a significant bite out of a pair of Ashley's socks. The focus of the room, however, was the bed frame. A handsome thing made of wrought iron and proudly supporting four vine-covered posts which bore more of the same worn, green curtains, it took up the majority of the smallish room's floorspace. A mattress and linens from a neighbouring room replaced the originals, which were cursed with some sort of permanent blood stain that Ashley decided would be wisest not to ask about. All that remained was to remove the plaque on the door that read the name of some past Black and to coat the entire inside of the room in various tones of a creamy off-white and Ashley dubbed the little sanctuary not only livable, but comfortably so.

All of this took no more than three days, days which Ashley considered well-spent as not only did they result in a safely inhabitable and personalized living space in which he could escape the contrasting gloom of the decrepit building and the boisterousness of its many occupants, but he also found nifty offensive uses for two of the household spells that he could not wait to try out, and had harvested enough doxie parts to keep his father's stores full for quite some time and still have enough left over to fill a couple of vials of venom for his own personal use.

The rest of his time was spent exploring the great house itself. He quickly found that the lower levels were the ones fit for the consumption of guests; it was on the higher floors that the real interest lay. He began on the top-most floor and worked his way downwards.

To begin, the attic contained an enormous stormy-gray hippogriff. To say that Ashley had been shocked to come across such a beast in this house was an understatement. But he kept his outward reaction to a minimum, of course, and the proud creature had responded in kind to his bow, allowing him to move ever-so cautiously forward to stroke his feathered neck. Ashley was fairly appalled at keeping such a magnificent specimen locked up when it was without doubt meant to be free, soaring the dark skies, a speck among specks against a starry night above. He held his tongue, however, when he saw that it showed signs of obvious care and and recent feedings, and reasoned that even Black would not be so cruel without reason given that he, himself, was a prisoner of the house, too. Empathizing with Black was not something that Ashley cared very much for, though, and so after soothing the hipprogriff into a more relaxed position with rhythmic strokes and quiet words, he left.

The next floor consisted mostly of storage, and while this on its own would probably have yielded some extremely interesting foraging, Ashley was wary enough of disturbing anything potentially volatile to do much more than scan the rooms for anything outstanding, which, unsurprisingly, he did not find. Magic behaved in strange ways when left too long alone, he knew, and he had no wish to find himself locked into a man-eating trunk or some such nonsense, a notion that was not out of the question - just look at his rug. Ashley was well aware that objects touched by magic and in close proximity to other such objects sometimes leaked out beyond their boundaries with time, blurring the edges of where one curse ended and one charm began. And the absence of magical beings to eat up and replace the natural magical waste only exacerbated this process. Needless to say, he harboured a healthy bout of caution in his mind when he considered that this was an entirely magical household, containing many decidedly unfriendly magics, and had been abandoned for years, if what his father told him was correct. Which, he reflected, it undoubtedly was.

He moved on to the floor below, and here, he knew he had struck galleons. It was a library. Ashley moved silently between the shelves of dust-ridden tomes, hands clasped carefully behind his back as though he was afraid that they might suddenly reach out and snatch one without his permission. With a quiet contemplation, he examined the titles of the books closely, his green eyes betraying his silent thrill at what he saw there. While many of the authors and editions were familiar to him (Durmstrang was not the only school that taught the Dark Arts for nothing, after all, and he was a Leclair, for Darkness' sake), there were several that were not and he thought gleefully of the treasure trove of spells awaiting him on their ancient pages. Bright with anticipation, he withdrew his wand and cast several standard detection spells on both the shelves and the books themselves. Both glowed a menacing brownish-orange, indicating a surplus of wards and curses. Completely undeterred, Ashley continued to walk the aisles, forming a mental list of must-reads. There was a particularly ordinary-looking book on stealth and concealment which Ashley had to force himself to concentrate on in order to overcome its notice-me-not charm, and which he decided instantly he must investigate further and put at the top of his list. To have woven such a charm so intricately that it was still functioning this strongly even years later would take a considerable amount of skill and power, and he would have wanted to examine it for that alone; that it contained possibly fascinating information was a significant bonus.

Deciding to continue his explorations for now and return to the room in the morning with a fresh head and his warding notes, Ashley moved down to the final floor above his own. This one boasted a comfortable and more casual-looking lounge than the parlour downstairs with large bay windows overlooking the back of the house, as well as a large empty room that he thought held distinct possibility, and a study. Typical of the rest of the house's decor, it was proud and dismally gloomy. It did, however, hold one item that caught Ashley's attention and caused him to enter slowly, leaving the door ajar. A wall-sized tapestry took up the right side of the room and was detailed, he found, with the Black family tree. Studying the bottom closely, Ashley soon discovered what he was looking for and was just reaching out a pale hand to stroke the fabric lightly when he heard the squeak of a floorboard behind him. Straightening quickly at the noise, he turned to see Longbottom peaking around the open door.

"Leclair?" he asked nervously.

Ashley raised a single brow in question.

Longbottom coughed, nearly choking when he saw the typical Snape expression on the face of the lad his age instead of where he was used (if not immune) to it on the visage of his potions professor. "I, er, just - just came to call you for dinner."

Ashley nodded his acknowledgment and turned back to his examination of the wall-hanging. Perhaps encouraged by the lack of open hostility, Longbottom pushed the door the rest of the way open and joined him. "What are you doing?"

Ashely suppressed a sigh with only immense difficulty. His eyebrow was back in the air and some of his sideways look at the Boy-Who-Lived must have gotten through, for he was soon turning faintly pink. "Right."

The boy lapsed into blessed silence as he, too, examined the tapestry's bottom edge to see the most recent additions. It was not to last.

"Look, there's where Sirius' mum blasted his picture off," he said, pointing at a black scorch mark above the man's name. He frowned. "That's her portrait downstairs, you know. Stupid cow," he muttered under his breath. Ashley watched as his gaze moved slowly along the tapestry to Sirius's brother Regulus, who was dead, his cousin Andromeda, who was also blasted off, and onto his cousin Narcissa who had a golden line stretching down between her husband's name and her own to...

"Malfoy." The name was said with such spite that Ashley was momentarily taken aback before recalling that his father had told him of their rivalry. Though if these sorts of insults were the best that came out of Longbottom's mouth, then Ashley could not imagine it was more than a one-sided amusement. He chose to say nothing, however, knowing that silence was sometimes all that was needed to reveal weaknesses, and watched as the brunette's eyes finally moved on to Sirius' last cousin. And he watched as those soft brown eyes widened in shock and then narrowed viciously in hate.

"Lestrange," he spat, and the look on his face was an ugly one. His fingers balled into fists as though ready to lash out at the picture of the wild-eyed young woman on the hanging before him, and the back of his neck was flushed with passion. "I can't believe that Sirius is related to that - that... I don't know how he can stand it. Being family to Death Eaters." His expression was all hard lines and shadows. "At least my parents fought for the Light. At least I know that they did it for the greater good. I'll always have that. I'm the lucky one, really. Sirius had to fight hard to get onto the right side. I'll never have to."

Ashley looked at him with hooded eyes, his face blank and grave. It was the most certainty he had ever seen the boy possess, and he found it troublesome, much more so than the boy's poor verbal skill or his apparent lack of talent in academics. For this was a figurehead in the war, an important political player whether he knew and used it or not, and he saw the world in black and white. And yet, he was so easily swayed when he thought that his opinion might be rejected. Yes, troublesome indeed.

Slowly, Longbottom came down from his height of emotion and when he did he looked faintly embarrassed, perhaps uncomfortable with Ashley's silence. "Well. Shall we go down to dinner, then?"

Ashley gave a curt nod and followed him to the door, pausing only long enough to give one last glance back at the tapestry. The spot of scorched fabric where Sirius' face used to be stared at him from amidst the members of his family, gaping like a mouth open in a scream. With a firm click, Ashley made sure the door shut.


	5. Chapter 5

It did not take long for Ashley to fall into a routine in that hateful house. Not being allowed outside severely limited his flying (obviously) as well as his dueling. In the end he did his best to seal, ward, and otherwise prep the empty room on the third floor for any and all spell practising purposes, which were many. His mornings were therefore spent in the Black library (which had ended up taking him a whole morning to unravel gently), tearing through everything he got his hands on and taking copious notes. No one joined him in this which he found somewhat surprising (how could they not be drawn to this treasure trove of knowledge?), but not unwelcome.

Lunch was an informal affair as everyone got up at different times, he being an earlier riser than most, which suited him just fine. The lone house elf in the manor, Kreacher, while justifiably insane, seemed to have taken a particular liking to Ashley which was useful at mealtimes but which most of the residents, Black especially, seemed to interpret as a mark against his character. It was beyond confusing to Ashley who could attribute their attitudes only to jealousy which was a confusing notion (jealous of the attentions of an old and damaged house elf? really?), but not a major concern overall.

Ashley spent his afternoon retreated in his room, focused on his summer schedule of learning. It would not do in the least to fall behind, after all. Not having a decent set-up or ingredients available for brewing was irksome indeed, but it was probably just as well, or he would have begun neglecting his health in favour of distracting himself with his latest research project. As it was, he was running on minimum sleep and the only meal he actually showed up for was dinner.

Those were always awkward affairs, filled with stilted conversation and interruptions by random Order members stopping by to deliver reports or catch a quick bite. Although they all obviously recognized him from his rather memorable entrance and were clearly intrigued by him if their speculative (and blatant) glances were anything to go by, few actually approached him, for which he was thankful. He did not find himself interested in them in return at all, and was content to keep to himself.

TW and the Girl Weasley continued to try to bring him out of his shell in their friendly way, and he was open enough in his conversation with them to apparently satisfy. Granger seemed to see him at first as some sort of charity case, Circe knew why, and persistently asked questions about his childhood, his father, and worst of all, Madame. Her impertinence and presumptuousness were neither appreciated, nor tolerated by him for long and it only took one sharp telling off (in private) to quell her. Instead, she had taken to pursing her lips whenever he opened his mouth and hugging at him whenever possible, as though to tell him that she disapproved. Ashley found this arrogant attempt at the silent guilt trip treatment to be laughable, and made mental bets on when she would crack and give in to her odd desire to interrogate him once more.

Ronald and black, on the other hand, were bent against him from the moment that they found out he was a former student of Durmstrang. Longbottom and the werewolf, Lupin, seemed to have been drawn into their camp of dark wizard haters, as Ashley had suspected they would be, and would fall silent whenever a scathing remark about his upbringing or dark nature was made, or when Ronald and Black would trade knowing looks when TW or the girl Weasley inquired about the difference in curriculum between the two schools. The entire thing was beyond infuriating to the young Frenchman, hence his tendency towards solitude.

It was during one of these uncomfortable meals towards the end of July that the conversation turned towards the subject of classes for the first time. The girl Weasley, it seemed, was having to pick which classes she would continue for advanced study and was receiving all manner of advice. Her two oldest brothers were in attendance for once and Ashley was studying them passively, intrigued by what he had learned of them from his father.

"I still don't see what you're taking all those academic courses for," the dragon handler was saying. "You've covered them all the way to your OWLs already, anything more is just over-kill."

"Because they're useful academics, you dolt, that's why," the eldest of the Weasley progeny retorted, prompting his brother to engage him in a short fork duel which was the cause of much laughter among their younger companions.

"Honestly," Granger said primly. "Bill is right, Ginny, those classes are incredibly useful -"

"If you're a scholar, maybe," cut in TW. "Or you could do like us and try yourself out in the real world. Those fancy exams are for fops like Percy, anyway."

Granger was puffing up like an indignant owl at TW's words, and perhaps hoping to stave off a rat of magnanimous proportions, the girl Weasley turned to Ashely.

"What do you think, LeClair?"

As in most cases when his opnino was asked, most conversation stopped as all turned to hear his response (hor he would never volunteer such information unless either very comfortable with his company or very interested in the subject matter, or both, neither of which were commonplace circumstances at Number Twelve).

"I think that it depends largely upon what it is you intend to do once you leave school. If what you are interested in leans towards a more scholarly nature, then by all means, take the appropriate courses. If not, then your brothers are right and you are wasting time better spent elsewhere."

"And what did _you_ choose?" she asked curiously.

Ashley smiled wryly. "I chose not to choose and took everything."

Granger beamed, Ronald gagged, but the others looked interested.

"So you don't know what you want to do after you've finished school, then?" the eldest Weasley, William, the curse breaker, asked.

"I have not yet decide," Ashley tempered, "but of late, I have been leaning towards spell creation."

Eyebrows all over the table went up, as it was known to be one of the most dangereous and difficult jobs to acquire.

"That's ambitious of you," the dragon handler, Charles, said pleasantly. "funny, I would've thought you'd be a shoe in for a potions mastery like your dad."

Ashley nodded in understanding. "Father instilled in me a healthy love and respect for potions from an early age, but we both know I will never be anything like to his calibre. It is an arena in which few can compete."

"So which classes will you be taking at Hogwarts, then?" Granger asked eagerly.

Ashley eyed her for a moment before replying. "Astronomy, Herbology, and Care of Magical Creatures."

There was a short silence as everyone waited for him to continue and when he did not, Granger obviously felt the need to speak up.

"But you'll never get a job with Spell Creation with only three NEWTs, and especially those ones!"

Ashley paused in his reply. "Newts?"

"Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests," she responded immediately.

"Ah." He understood. "They are the British equivalent of the SIMEs, I imagine." At their obvious confusion, he elaborated. "The Standard International Magical Examinations. They are set by the Bonaparte Board for the Magical Arts and taken throughout much of North Eastern and Central Europe. The Italians and the Greeks have their respective systems, of course, but I believe much of Africa and the Middle east have adopted the Bonaparte System as well."

Ashley went back to his dinner as the rest digested this tidbit, but before he could get more than a couple of bites in, the curse breaker spoke back up. "You never actually answered Hermione's question, though, Leclair."

Ashley refrained from pointing out that there had not actually been a question in the first place, but his irritation was not so easily quelled. If his distraction was so obvious then why couldn't the man leave things be that he clearly had no desire to discuss with them.

"Under the Bonaparte System, student traditionally complete their SIMEs after six years of schooling. The final year is an optional one for students wishing to complete further study under the guidance of their professors and with the use of the extensive libraries most institutes enjoy."

"So you took your SIMEs last year?" Granger looked like she might have a stroke with excitement if he said yes.

He hesitated, but knew that it would become common knowledge soon enough anyways and there was no sense in lying whatsoever. It didn't mean he'd not rather evade, but perhaps it was best if they heard it from him.

"Actually, I completed the exams the spring before last."

More than one mouth hung open.

"You took your exams a whole year early?" Charles asked, shocked.

"Two, if you compare it to us," William amended, his face thoughtful.

"why in the name of Merlin's loose sleeves are you still in school?" TW asked incredulously. Ronald and Longbottom were nodding vigorously in agreement, but the girl Weasley's face showed her to be contemplating him, perhaps in a new light. Granger seemed to have gone into shock.

Ashley waved his had dismissively at their awe. "It is not so uncommon as you would think. Durmstrang employs a much more open lecture style of education than your own, which is more structured, I believe. It allows for the free advancement of the under stimulated student in the areas in which they excel. The result, however, is often a graduate with a far less rounded education than a Hogwarts alumnus might have. It is simply a different style. I took a few of my SIMEs early, which has allowed me time for both personal study and to learn further in areas which are not my strengths or priorities. The classes I shall attend at Hogwarts are a case in point."

"So which SIMEs did you take?" Granger persisted, her eyes slightly narrowed.

Ashley sighed mentally. "I took Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, Charms, Runes, and Arithmancy."

TW whistled softly. "And you're taking three more this year?"

"You're barmy, mate," Ronald said, shaking his head.

Ashley waved his hand again. Their scrutiny was making him uncomfortable.

"So what have you been doing for your personal studies?" the girl Weasley piped up.

Ashely restrained the urge to groan and pinch the bridge of his nose. He hated questions about him from strangers. He'd known since he could remember that the more someone knew about you, the more power they had over you. It was at times like this that he could fully understand his father's legendary crotchety attitude. Being polite was such a burden at times, but he didn't dare go against Madame's teachings. Who knew what tricks she still had up her sleeve. Best to just get this over with so he could retreat from the inquisition.

"Last year I was working on my Potions and Defense apprenticeships. This year I hope to form more with the professors of Hogwarts."

"Wait, you made Journeyman, then? On both?" the dragon handler asked.

"I did," Ashley confirmed.

"What was your potion?" William asked immediately.

"The feather-light potion," Ashley replied with ease. "It's an enhancement potion, one which reduces one's weight while leaving their mass intact, allowing for full muscle use. Rather like what walking on the moon would be like, I suppose."

"That would make for some rather fantastic reflexes, I imagine, suddenly being so much lighter," the curse breaker observed shrewdly.

"Indeed," Ashely agreed, "although it takes a fair bit of time to get used to. Being able to move faster and jump higher but with gravity unaffected, you fall at the same speed - it's a difficult adjustment." He waved his hand again in what was his version of a shrug (a Leclair never shrugs). "Not particularly useful, but it was enjoyable enough to make."

"Wicked," said TW, grinning at him in the most mischievous way.

Yes, he imagined they would enjoy something like that. though if they knew the spell that had inspired him to create it, they would probably be out brewing it this minute.

"So that's all you have to do? Invent a potion?" Ron asked.

Ashley, now used to his unintended slights merely leaned back in his chair to allow his siblings and friends to take care of it.

"Of course not, Ron!" Hermione jumped in right away. "An apprenticeship is so much more than that! Usually lasting between one and three years, an apprenticeship is the first step towards becoming a master. Once you've taken your exams to prove you have a thorough grounding in the basics, an apprenticeship is like an introduction to a mastery. You study under a mentor who is already a master in their subject and you learn how to research and invent - it's all about contributing something new to the filed of magic! Your mentor guides you and while the research and experimenting and learning are all done by you, your mentor can give advice and point you in the right direction. They also teach you more about their own personal style and interests and specialties, and you might assist them in their work much of the time. It's a great honour! And when they feel you're ready, you take another practical exam and submit a research paper about your experimentation and original ideas and if the Guild or Council approves then you're named a Journeyman! It means you've proven your worth and potential in the field. And then you're a Journeyman for ten years minimum and if in that time the Guild feels you've contributed significantly enough in your continued studies and research and you've gained enough experience then you're made a Master!"

She said all of this very quickly and enthusiastically and most people were looking shell-shocked when she finally paused to breathe, her face shining.

"Quite," Ashley said dryly, unfortunately drawing her attention to him.

"Who agreed to be your mentor? A professor?"

Ashley merely shook his head. "Father would have allowed not other, of course."

"So what about your defense apprenticeship, then?" Longbottom asked.

Ashley glanced at him, noticing his interest keenly. "I apprenticed under Professor Rubakov. I had been working with him since my first year, thus the reason for my early Journeymanship. Had I not been working with them both for so long in any case, I never would have managed to do both in the same year."

"What was your exam like?" Longbottom asked.

Ashley replied thoughtfully. "There are two portions to the exam. The first is a written research paper, as Hermione said. I chose to cover a duel and break it down minutely to dissect the reason for victory."

"Which duel did you pick?" the girl Weasley asked curiously.

"I chose the battle which resulted in the death of Dorcas Meadowes."

William looked up sharply at that. "With You Know Who?"

Ashley merely inclined his head.

The table's faces had turned sombre.

"Who was she?" asked Granger, looking slightly shaken.

"She was an Order member, wasn't she?" Charles looked to be thinking hard. "I think I remember when we were little and she died. It was all over the papers."

Ashely nodded. "She was a warder of great reckoning. Her specialty lay in stripping wards, I believe, a useful ally to have, and a keen enemy. Their fight was truly magnificent."

"How did you study it, though?" TW asked, frowning faintly.

"The memory was donated by a convicted Death Eaters who stood witness. It lies in the Library of Records in Wales."

There was a small pause as they collected their thoughts before Longbottom spoke up once more. "You mentioned a practical part to the exam?"

"Ah, yes," Ashley agreed. "This is usually submitted as a memory as well. The record must show that you came out victorious in at least three of five standardized duels in which certain conditions must be met. So many minutes lasted, so many hits landed, so many uses of conjuration or certain curses, and so forth. It is subjective, of course, as no two duels will e exactly the same, but they can be as set as possible by the regulations of the refereeing body."

"Who'd you duel?" asked Ronald eagerly.

"I was involved in the International Dueling Competition for Youth the past three years. I submitted memories of several rounds."

He could see the food in Ronald's mouth again.

"How'd you do?" Longbottom asked, eyes shining with excitement.

Ashley's eyes hooded. "I placed first for my age group each year," he told them quietly.

"Wicked," TW said again, and Ashley noticed that the girl Weasley was now speculating him openly. Lovely.


	6. Chapter 6

After that conversation, dinners were even more of a chore than before, making Ashley wish he'd forced them all to wait and find out about his accomplishments on their own - any indignation he would have had to put up with would be better than the painful interest Number Twelve's inhabitants now seemed to have in him. His time in the library was interrupted so frequently by Granger that he'd taken to reading in his room rather than suffer her stares. Luckily, that's as far as she'd gone as far s bothering him went; others were no so reluctant to disturb him, however. The girl Weasley and Longbottom (surprisingly) turned up the next day in the empty training room he'd set up for himself, wanting to watch and ask questions and generally badger him into assisting them in their own learning (though how they planned to manage such a thing while on magic-arrest was beyond him).

As July became August, Ashley spent more and more of his time locked in his room, performing research and studying the Black family texts. He'd decided that he'd rather lessen up his practical work for several weeks if it only meant some peace and quiet. His father's visits became less and less frequent as time went on and his duties at Hogwarts increased in importance and urgency. No news of import came from the Dark Lord front, which was encouraging, though the attacks continued weekly on muggle and wizard alike. Snape's one piece of misfortune was that the Dark Lord's forces were penetrating ever deeper into the ministry of magic. Ashley did not find this particularly surprising, though it boded ill for the continued freedom of Britain - not that it concerned him particularly, as this was not his country and therefore it was not his business, but it _did_ concern him that it meant that there was one less buffer between the Dark Lord and himself for the duration of his stay in this wretched country. And if there was one thing Ashley disliked, it was being under someone's control not his own.

About a week before classes were to begin, Snape made an appearance at dinner along with the regular Order attendees and the full Weasley clan.

Ashley, of course, leaped to his feet at the sight of his father, causing most of the adults to frown and Ron to snigger to himself.

Snape, however, merely waved him down again and poured himself a large brandy from the warded cupboard in the corner.

"Will you join us for dinner, Severus?" asked Mr. Weasley when it became obvious that Black was going to offer nothing of the kind.

"No, thank you, Arthur," he replied evenly, taking the seat next to Ashley and crossing one ankle over the opposite knee. He sipped his drink and ignored the looks that Black was giving him. Eyeing his son's near-empty plate, he spoke to Mrs. Weasley.

"Molly, I will be taking Ashley to Diagon Alley tomorrow to fetch his school things, so you need not expect him for dinner."

Mrs. Weasley's face lit up. "Oh! I've been meaning to get down there myself with the children. Could we go together, Severus?"

Snape's face folded into a frown. "the logistics would be difficult, Molly, as I would be expected to have reported the venturing out of Longbottom had it been planned in advance - I could hrdly show myself as an escort."

"Oh, that's right," Mrs. Weasley agreed, her face creasing with worry lines. "I just don't know how we're going to manage taking everyone this year..."

Ashley glanced at his father (who merely glance mildly back and swallowed another mouthful of brandy) before speaking up. "Mrs. Weasley, if you'd prefer, Father and I can pick up owl order catalogues from any shops you'd like, as we'll be there already, and that way you can avoid going out altogether."

Eyebrows all over the tale lifted at his thoughtfulness, but Mrs. Weasley simply beamed.

"That's a wonderful idea, dear! How thoughtful of you."

Ashley merely inclined his head. "It's no trouble."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his father smirk into his drink and had to repress his own smug expression. Yes, it was no trouble for him at all, and it would keep the Weasley rabble occupied for several days of pouring over catalogues instead of the one afternoon it would have if they went in person. And the busier they were, the less trouble they would give him.

"Aw, Mum, why can't we go? We've been stuck in this house all bloody summer!"

"Because no one is available to run guard duty as you well know, Ronald, and watch that language of yours young man!" Mrs. Weasley scolded her youngest son.

He scowled and looked away sullenly. "Thanks a lot, Leclair," he muttered to Ashley who merely shrugged apologetically at him and his friends who did not look best pleased either. Maybe now they'd avoid him even more, please Darkness.

"Come, Ashley," his father said, standing. "And show me your latest progress in your research."

"What are you researching, if I may ask?" Mr. Weasley asked genially as Ashley cleared his plate as hastily as decorum would allow.

"Ashley is assisting me in the development of a potion for the Order, Arthur."

"Is that wise?" Black inserted, his grey eyes glittering. "I thought that we agreed not to admit anyone who was still school-aged?"

"You'll have to take it up with the Headmaster, Black, as it was he who agreed ot include Ashley in this project when he commissioned it. And that is beside the fact that it was Ashley's own premise that inspired the idea to begin with. I could hardly prevent him from researching something he'd thought of on his own, could I?" he finished smugly.

Ashley thanked Mrs. Weasley demurely for dinner and hurried form the room before he could break into laughter at the look of consternation on Black's face.

Ashley and his father spent the following day incognito in Diagon Alley collecting the things he'd need for the coming school year. For the most part it was mundane: school uniform (Ashley not at all sorry to say good-bye to the thick furs of Durmstrang), course books, and parchment and ink to spare. His dragon-hide gloves for herbology and care of magical creatures were in prime condition, as any good potions adept kept them, and his telescope was in his trunk, recently polished for astronomy. As for his independent studies, what he'd need most was a quill to record his findings, and his wand and rune engraving kit to perform his experiments. Anything else he could simply order by owl, and so he picked up extra copies of all the catalogues he got for Mrs. Weasley for himself. All that remained was stock for his potions ingredients, and those he could either order individually or get form his father's private collection so long as it wasn't anything too rare.

They were finished by lunch and spent a pleasant afternoon and evening in discussion as they wandered about the alley or sat in cafes so that Ashley could get a much needed shot of espresso. It was the most relaxed Ashley had been since the attack, which was unusual for him as he was not fond of crowds or even often of words. But the normalcy of the day was a welcome chance to get away from the feeling of overwhelming claustrophobia that had encompassed him in the old Black manor. It felt good to not think about he politics of his upcoming situation at Hogwarts, but, of course, reality could not be ignored for long, and all too soon, it was time to cease talk of draughts and concoctions and return to the run down home of his father's most bitter childhood enemy.

He could not wait for school to begin, and at the same time, it could not be over fast enough. He would just be glad when all this nonsense was over and he could go home.

* * *

The morning of September first, the sole wizarding house in Grimmauld Place, London, was a beehive of activity. Weasleys ran up and down the stairs calling to each other for missing socks and broomsticks (really? how hard was it to keep track of an expensive piece of racing equipment?), red-faced as well as -haired in their fluster. The Granger girl was lugging an entire library's worth of books back and forth for reasons unknown and the Longbottom boy seemed to have misplaced his trunk altogether.

Order members who were to form the guard for the Boy Who Lived and his retinue milled about the lower floors, gossiping and sipping tea while suppressing awns from the effort of working their day jobs on top of their vigilante work. Ashley remained still in the kitchen, reading the last book he'd sought in the Black library in a final bid for information while keeping an eye out for the moment of departure.

"Watcha reading?"

The words were spoken by the young metamorph auror that Ashley had seen frequently throughout his time at Grimmauld Place and had soon learned was named Tonks. He'd discovered through casual comments that she was a relative of Black's, was in fact the daughter of his estranged cousin, Andromeda Tonks, who had been cast out of the family for marrying a muggleborn. The young Tonks was playful and outgoing never turning down an opportunity for a laugh, he'd found, though she must have been fairly talented to have garnered an apprenticeship with Moody, the ex-retired auror of great reknown. She could not have been more than a handful of years older than him and was apparently interested in (or at least intrigued by) him, if the sly glances he'd caught her sending his way meant anything.

Ashley showed her the cover of the book he was, until now, engrossed in.

"_Prints Charming: A History of Censure in British Charms Literature_. Wow, sounds riveting," she said sarcastically, rolling her eyes. She grinned at him. "I'd have thought you'd pick out something a little more interesting - it's not like the Black library isn't full of cool curse books."

Ashley assessed her coolly. "This is the most disturbing book I've come across in this house, as yet."

Her hair flashed blue in surprise. "How's that?"

Ashely looked down at the pages in his hands. "The amount of control the government has over the printed word in this country is, quite frankly, disgusting."

"What do you mean?" she asked, frowning.

"I'd estimate that 99 percent of the books in that library are illegal."

"Well, yeah," she said, grinning again. "But that's 'cause they're full of dangerous magic, stuff that not everyone should have access to. They could get hurt."

Ashley held up the book in his hands. "This book was banned form print withing a year of its publication. What's so dangerous about history?"

The girl was frowning again, though it was at the book this time and not at Ashley. "Really?"

"Read it for yourself," he replied, handing it to her, and got up, as he could see Mrs. Weasley trying to finally get them all out the door. He looked her in the eye. "Just don't get caught."

"Right." She was giving him the funniest look. "I'll be seeing you, Leclair."

He nodded to her and hurried to the front entrance and out into the chill morning air behind the Weasley matron, half eager, half filled with dread.

Hogwarts, here I come...


	7. Chapter 7

Like Durmstrang Institute and Beauxbatons Academy, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was a hidden school. For the safety of the students and staff from muggle and wizard kind alike, all three buildings were tucked away in deserted parts of the world's wilderness, their true geographic locations known to few, if any at all. Getting there, then, was obviously a bit of a challenge to those who could not apparate, thus the reason for the Hogwarts Express, a large scarlet steam-engine that would tow the train cars full of students, pets, and luggage to the town that lay at Hogwarts' gates, Hogsmeade.

Ashley knew all this as he'd been studying up on his soon-to-be school, curious about its secrets, as each school guarded theirs jealously.

Thus the reason he was currently leaning against a wall in the middle of a muggle train station in the center of London, wearing his crisp new white shirt and black slacks, his shoes polished to a shine and his hair pulled back neatly. He and the guard, Sturgis Podmore, slid through the fake wall together, casually standing upright on the other side as they were treated to the sight of hundreds of children and their parents milling around, chatting with friends and saying their good-gyes before the start of the school term. Ashley and Podmore moved off to the side swiftly to make room for the next group to come through the barrier between the muggle and wizarding platforms, Ashley's trunk floating faithfully along behind him several inches off the ground as he'd charmed it to.

Once the rest of the party came through, Mrs. Weasley gathered all the children around for hugs and to return their wands. Ashley managed to get away with being patted on the cheek and shook Mr. Weasley's hand as well as those of the guards in thanks before moving away slightly with Granger and Longbottom to give the Weasley family some privacy.

He looked around hopefully. Father had said they'd be here...

He craned his neck to see above the heads of a group of giggling school girls standing nearby, and caught a flash of the tell-tale silver he was looking for. A smirk stole its way upon his face as he watched the Malfoy family approach.

"Ashley," Draco's face was covered in an expression identical to his own, and the two boys approached one another swiftly. They clasped arms, hands just below the elbow, fingers of the left hand grasping the other's right shoulder int he traditional informal embrace of purebloods; it was an action that implied a million things: trust, admiration, caring, respect, equality, companionship. At seventeen, the two young men stood tall and strong and straight-backed and the affection in both their eyes was unfamiliar to most of the onlookers who were far more used to seeing them filled with obscurity, deceit, condescension, and even malice.

"It is good to see you, Draco," Ashley said in his faint accent, squeezing both hands slightly before they parted.

Draco stood back to make room for his father who stepped forward into the same embrace as his son. "It has been too long, Ashley," he drawled, and Ashley's smirk deepened.

"That it has, Lucius."

The older man stepped back, allowing the final member of the small Malfoy family to greet him.

"Ashley," Narcissa Malfoy said in her deceptively soft voice as she pulled him directly into a full embrace, her arms about his shoulders holding him tightly as he had not been in some time. "How I have missed you."

"As I have missed you, Narcissa," Ashley replied and injected warmth into his tone so that she would know just how very much he had, especially recently.

She pulled back gently but caught his face in her hands so that she could study his eyes. Whatever she saw there must have distressed her for he saw her own eyes tighten with concern. He caught her hands in his own and kissed the knuckles on each while giving her his most charming smile.

"I am alright, Narcissa," he reassured her, but hte worry did not leave her face even as he released her from his grasp.

Her eyes flickered briefly to the black band on his left arm that he'd almost forgotten he was wearing and then back to his tired face.

"You will be," she half agreed.

"Oi, Leclair! What're you doing with _them_?" Ronald's voice carried over the din of the surrounding bystanders and reached Ashley's ears, causing his jaw to clench with irritation. Blanking his face, he turned to find that the Weasley family as well as Longbottom and Granger had approached, apparently seeking to collect him. With a flick of his eyes, he noted that the four guards including Podmore had melted into the crowd, thankfully acting inconspicuous and only watching surreptitiously.

Turning his full attention back to the redhead before him, he did his best to defuse the tense situation.

"Did you not know? Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy are my godparents and Draco my godbrother. I believe you know them?"

"We've met," Mr. Weasley said tersely while the Malfoys merely sneered.

"No need for introductions then," said Ashley affably. "Perhaps we ought to reserve a compartment on the train, Draco? I don't know how full it gets."

"Yes I suppose we had better before they fill up with all the common riff raff," Draco said smugly, his face delighted at the horrified expression on the other children's stunned faces at the revelation of Ashley's relationship to the Malfoy family.

"Quite," Ashley said mildly and promplty dismissed the others with a brief, "Thanks again. I suppose I'll be seeing you all."

The Malfoys and Ashley moved down to the opposite end of the train to get the boys settled in a car. Once they'd chosen one and claimed it with their things, they returned to the platform for proper good-byes.

"Take care, Ashley," Lucius told him seriously as they clasped hands once more, only his silver eyes betraying his concern on an otherwise nonchalant face. Ashley nodded tightly, grateful for the words that so rarely passed his godfather's controlled lips.

"We'll see you again soon, Ashley. I'm only sorry we couldn't spend more time with you," Narcissa said bracingly and swept him into another hug. "Keep an eye on Draco," she breathed into his ear and he squeezed her extra tight to let her know he would. He kissed her cheek quickly and then left them alone for a moment with their son.

He knew that once they'd said their final farewells, the Malfoys would leave the station - they were not the type to linger and wave.

Draco returned shortly, quickly shutting the compartment door and throwing up a couple of basic privacy spells. Then, settling himself across form Ashley, he leaned forward eagerly and said simply, "Well?"

Ashley leaned back, glad to be among the company of his irrepressible godbrother. It really had been too long since they'd last seen one another. One more glance at the impatient expression on his handsome face and Ashley gave in. With a smirk worthy of any Malfoy, he began.

* * *

It was not long after Ashley completed his narration of his summer that Draco stood. The train had only begun moving about fifteen minutes before, and they were still moving through the city's suburbs, but Ashley looked away from the window in favour of watching his godbrother stretch out his lanky muscles.

"I've got to head up to the front of the train, the prefect meeting should be starting any time now and I'd skip it but..." he trailed off and fingered his Head Boy badge mock-sadly. "The prices one must pay for power," he lamented.

"Such as it is," Ashley snorted, but stood as well to fetch a book from his trunk.

"One takes what one can get," Draco shrugged.

"True," he acknowledged, and settled back with his astronomy text to wait.

The day passed quickly with Draco popping in and out form the occasional patrol of the train and from visiting with his own friends and acquaintances. Ashley respected that Draco had a hierarchy he had to maintain and that involved spending a certain amount of time playing politics. It was something that Ashley was good at, naturally, but had little patience for. Madame and his father both had ingrained in him a healthy disdain for playing such games, but he was not fool enough to not realized that forming and maintaining alliances was not an unwise thing to do, and so he understood Draco's need to involve himself in the practice power plays for real life.

It was a reason that he and Draco got along so well - his genuine lack of interest in such matters made him less of a threat than he might otherwise be with his accomplishments, but that also made him _useful_. He could provide an objective point of view or act as a neutral party, and his talents for magic made him a worthy ally, worth keeping around and protecting and providing for to ensure loyalty, much as Lucius did for Severus. That, and Draco actually _liked_ Ashley, and vice versa. There were no illusions between the two, and that was a rare thing in and of itself among their kind. But ultimately, their two fathers had tied hteir families together, and to them, family was everything.

So Ashely finished his astronomy text quietly, the last of the assigned books he had not yet read, and pulled out a scroll of parchment with some of his research on it, intent on completing at least one more calculation before the train pulled into Hogsmeade and he was forced to enter the public eye.

Finally, Draco returned to change into his school robes and Ashley did the same, putting his work away. They joined the throng of Hogwarts students filling the hall as the train slowed to a stop and descended into the crisp night air, the darkness seeping out from the forest in the distance and splaying in shadows across the small wizarding town.

Draco bid his godbrother good-bye and swept away in the sea of black robes towards the carriages pulled by thestrals that would take the older students up to the castle while Ashley mad his way towards a gargantuan man surrounded by a crowd of nervous-looking eleven year olds. Lovely.

"You Leclair?" the man asked not unkindly in a voice as big as he was.

Ashley nodded and shook hands with the part-giant (as he could immediately tell; no one was that large naturally).

"Hagrid's the name, I'm the keeper of the keys and grounds at Hogwarts," he said, puffing up with pride.

"My father told me I was to accompany you and the other newcomers across the lake, Mr. Hagrid," Ashley stated as they lead the small group of new students down a rough hewn path which presumably lead to the edge of the lake.

"Jus' Hagrid's fine, and Sev'rus said to 'spect 'tcha, got yer own boat an' all," Hagrid replied genially as he held up a lantern to light the rock way for the youngsters behind them.

Ashley strode calmly beside him, having assessed him as a kindly if somewhat simple man, but one who was obviously capable if he kept the entire grounds by himself. Not to mention his ancestry, which could certainly come in handy if the occasion ever called for it, Ashley was sure.

Soon enough they came to the shore of a great lake and clambered into small boats which seemed to move on their own power across the water. Through a break in the trees, they were finally able to take a peek at Hogwarts Castle, and while in was no impressive fortress like Durmstrang or elegant palace like Beauxbatons, Ashley had to admit that it did look magnificent lit up as it was against the dramatic night sky.

A cool fog was just starting to form on the ground when they finally reached the part in the cliffs and trees where they could reach the foot of the castle by water, and they were quickly led up a set of stone steps to a pair of might oak doors upon which Hagrid knocked a great meaty fist, twice. They swung open immediately to reveal a tall, stately witch, whose hair-style was only slightly more severe than her expression.

"Thank you, Hagrid," she told him, and he lumbered off while she looked down upon the tight and anxious faces of the first years, her eyes flickering only once to Ashley's tall dark form to the side. "Good evening, and welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."


	8. Chapter 8

Ashley waited patiently in the small room off the Great Hall as Professor McGonagall had instructed him to as the first years were sorted into their houses. He knew that this was an important ceremony to the English, that your house defined you for far longer than just your school years. He could see the advantages, he supposed, of forming strong alliances so early in life, but it also was inevitable that discrimination of a sort would follow,which could be troublesome later on. Besides which, could one not equally embody two or more of the houses' qualities? After all, ambition without hard work led nowhere and courage without intelligence or cunning was merely suicidal.

The thing that truly irked him, however, was that by being sorted he would be on some level admitting himself as a true member of their society. He would be receiving a label that he could not shake off; even if from then on he insisted that he identified with his home country and not his barbaric land of fools, he would still forever carry the name of this house with him, thereby signalling to the English that this was not completely true. He disliked this lack of control over his image and identity immensely. But not so much that he would risk the Dark Lord's wrath and refuse to be sorted, he acknowledged to himself. And that was what it all came back to, wasn't it? This man who he'd never met had such immense control over him and his actions and even his reputation that it made his skin crawl and his jaw ache. He. Did. Not. Like. This.

But then the door was opening and McGonagall was speaking to him ("They're ready for you,") and he was blanking his face and walking into ta hall the likes of which he had never seen. It was so... _magical_. It was lit only by the stars in the ceiling-sky overhead (and wouldn't _that_ be interesting to investigate) and candles that floated eerily over the tables and the ghosts that were arrayed around the edge of the hall. The students were a blur of black robes and eager young faces and the staff table a long line of the colourful and the intrigued. His father's face was impassive as he watched him stride up the hall in his Hogwarts uniform, his paces steady and even, his own expression complete in its neutrality. And there was the man that must be Dumbledore, for who else could have a beard of such length and still be called respectable? And on his face was a look of such intensity that Ashely was actually glad when Professor McGonagall announced his name and lifted an old and fraying hat off of a stool. Ashley sat and she placed the hat on his head; it was a good fit and he was able to eey the watching students as he listened to the hat's words in his ear.

"Well? What's is going to be?"

"Isn't that your job?" thought Ashley sardonically.

"Hmph. Yes, well, it's difficult enough to sort eleven year olds whose minds are far less complex than yours. You are loyal to a fault and incredibly hard-working, yet you are not wanting for courage, though you _are_ lacking slightly in chivalry. More like you're selectively chivalrous, but that defeats the whole purpose of the word, doesn't it? And while you are extraordinarily intelligent and you have a love of knowledge for the sake of knowledge, your cunning and ambition are two of your strongest traits. So in reality, you could end up just about anywhere."

"Hm. I see your dilemma."

"Indeed. So, as I said, what's it going to be?"

"My preference would be the house where I am most expected to go."

"In order to draw the least attention to yourself? How very Slytherin of you."

"It is as you said."

"Yes, I suppose it is. Well, I think we've kept them all in suspense for long enough. Best of luck in, SLYTHERIN!" the house shouted to the hall.

"Thank you," Ashley murmured in his thoughts politely before removing the hat and handing it to Professor McGonagall and going down to join Draco at his table, his robe's trim and tie now a brilliant green that matched his eyes. Draco's pale face was drawn into the smuggest smirk Ashley had seen him wear sine that summer when they were twelve and Lucius lost a bet with him involving donating a full set of top of the line brooms to the Slytherin quidditch team.

Ashley smirked faintly in response and seated himself across from him, right at the end of the table in the empty seat. Evidently Draco had saved it for him, certain of his placement and wanting to make a statement about his status within the house. The two end spots were the most coveted, after all, and while Draco had the one on the right, signifying his leadership in the hierarchy, Ashley's placement made him something of an equal to him.

On Ashley's right was a girl with hair black as pitch, pale skin and eyes a pretty cerulean blue, but her expression was one of disdain. Her positioning indicated that while she deferred to Draco as the Slytherin leader, she was the other reigning alpha in the pack. Her prefect badge supported this theory. To Draco's left was a very thin boy with a face like a rat. His beady brown eyes were calculating on Ashley, but turned to watch the headmaster when he stood. So that was Draco's second. Interesting. Ashley, too, looked to the white-haired man whose arms were spread wide in welcome and blue eyes were twinkling madly.

"Welcome! Welcome to another year at Hogwarts!"

Ashley listened closely as he explained several of the basic school rules and reminders and then went on to introduce the Triwizard Tournament that Hogwarts would be hosting. Ashley felt Draco's eyes on him briefly, as well as those of the rat boy, but did not turn to acknowledge them. Apparently the potential contestants form the others schools would not be arriving until Halloween, which was a shame. It would have been nice to see some familiar faces. But that meant that he had two months to establish himself here, which was not unreasonable.

Dumbledore retook his seat once he'd finished his speech and introduced the new potions professor, Horace Slughorn. A large-moustached man, he resembled something like a walrus and waved jovially at the students, though Ashley knew from his father that this was a master of favours and debts. A man with connections in every pot, he was not averse to helping out a favourite student - as long as they then owed him something in return. Apparently Ashley was to expect an invitation to what was known in his father's day as the 'Slug Club', a band of Slughorn's favourites who gathered on occasion to socialize and form connections. It was not something he looked forward to, but saw as a necessity to attend.

His eyes flickered to his father once more who was engaged in conversation with the man who had taken over his position as potions professor. Snape would finally be permitted to teach his favourite class this year - Defense. While he love potions more than anything, Ashley kenw that his father detested teaching it. Defense would be far less prone to explosions, and he _did_ love the Dark Arts as well, so the class would be something that he could teach well.

Ashley tore his eyes from the staff table; there would be plenty of time to examine them later, but for now, dinner was being served. Ashley helped himself to the lightest dishes he could find, and several familiar ones from home had appeared near his seat. Someone had obviously spoken to the house elves and recommended them for him, for which he was immensely grateful. Too much more of Molly Weasley's heavy English cooking and he didn't know what he would've done.

Loading up with some fish and a salad, he was drawn into conversation for the first time.

"Congratulations on Slytherin," Draco told him, his smirk deepening. "I _knew_ you'd belong to the noble house." And how much did you win off your father who thought I was a guaranteed Ravenclaw, Ashley wanted to ask, but didn't. Most people would not understand the affectionate nature of Draco and Lucius' bets. So he merely smiled mildly at him and nodded his thanks.

"You know each other?" rat boy cut in and Draco glanced over at him in vague annoyance.

"My godbrother, Leclair. Ashley, this is Nott."

Ashley nodded at him and Nott eyed him with only a hint of jealousy at Draco's familiarity.

"Leclair..." came the voice of the dark-haired girl to his right. "I've heard that name before." She was watching the boys' interaction coldly.

Ashley rested his left arm on the table lightly, allowing her to see the black band he wore. "Perhaps you heard reference to my late grandmother. Madame had a few contacts in the UK," he said neutrally, his face giving nothing away to her keen blue eyes.

"I'm sorry for your loss," she said as coldly as before, her sentiments echoed vaguely by Nott and he nodded his thanks.

"Daphne Greengrass," she said eventually, holding out her hand which he bent his head over briefly in acknowledgment of her status.

"Ashley Leclair," he replied.

"Your accent is very good," Greengrass commented as they continued their dinner. "Do you and Malfoy spend so much time together, then?"

"We spent most of our childhood summers together," Ashley responded, "although it has been two years since Draco and I last saw one another."

Draco looked like someone had just given him a philosopher's stone and Ashley realized how very long he had longed to drop the bomb on his classmates. "Ashley's English has always been good. Probably because of his father."

Nott was the one to take his baited hook, though Greengrass' eyes were jumping between the godbrothers swiftly and he thought she might've figured it out. "And who is his father, exactly?"

"Why, my godfather, of course. Professor Snape."

Parkinson, on Nott's other side who had obviously been eavesdropping, dropped her fork with a clang of surprise. Ashley smirked into his goblet at the look on Draco's face. Nott's eyebrows had shot up and even Greengrass looked impressed that she hadn't known.

"I wasn't aware that Professor Snape had any family," she said delicately.

"My father is a very private person," he replied in an equal tone, giving away nothing.

"So you grew up in France, then?" Nott questioned.

"With my mother's family, yes," Ashley said.

"So you'll know all about Beauxbatons, then," he assumed, obviously hoping for something that could be used in the tournament.

"Not as much as you might think," Ashley said, then explained. "I attended Durmstrang up until last year."

Their whole end of the table was silent now, not even pretending not to listen in. Really, he'd expected better.

"Why not Beauxbatons, if you lived there?" asked Parkinson. Ashley recognized her as Draco's betrothed, the poor boy. The girl seemed a little unrefined.

"Father preferred the smaller class-size and the curriculum's focus on dueling," he explained, "And Madame felt that the French focus on broom racing was frivolous."

"Not that that stopped you, did it, Leclair?" said a boy on Greengrass' other side. "You topped the international youth racing boards since you started, I heard." His dark eyes were glittering with knowledge and good humour in his handsome face. A real looker, he had a Mediterranean tone to his complexion that stood out when compared with his paler faced classmates.

"I didn't think that the English followed broom racing," Ashley responded without really responding. "From what Draco says, you're all about quidditch over here."

"We are," the boy replied. "But my family's from Italy, originally, and my cousins rare about the speed of the races." He smiled charmingly at him. "Blaise Zabini."

"Leclair," Ashley replied.

"Charmed," Zabini purred at him and winked. Oh, for the love of Circe. Ashley merely raised an eyebrow at him and went back to his dinner.

"So who's entering the tournament?" Draco asked the table in general. Silence reigned at the table and Draco grinned. "That's what I like to hear. Had any one of you been fool enough to risk your neck for a mere one thousand galleons, I'd have been very surprised."

Ashley's eyebrow made another trip to his hairline and Draco scoffed at him when he noticed it. "Your situation's different Ashley, and you know it."

Eyes turned to him, Nott's disdainful, but Greengrass' showed deep calculation.

"What are you entering for then?" Parkinson asked bluntly. Perhaps she wasn't unrefined, simply a very to the point person, Ashley mused. He hoped so, for Draco's sake. Though it could be a very fun reputation to garner, he supposed.

"For the glory of my new school and country, of course," he replied seriously and they all fell quiet at that, sensing something deeper but knowing better than to press.

"What will his competition be like?" Draco asked and all the Slytherins turned to the last seventh year girl on Zabini's other side. Blond like Parkinson, her hair was shorter than the pug-nosed girl's, indicating that she was not the heiress to her family or that she was from a family of less import, though it was most likely the latter given her low status among the seventh years.

Unlike Parkinson's dirty blond hair, though, hers was a platinum approaching the white-blond of a Malfoy, but not quite. Petite and with eyes a contrasting dark, dark brown, nearly black, she made for a striking character if not a gorgeous one like Greengrass.

"Davis," Draco muttered to Ashley, and he did not recognize the name. She had obviously done extremely well for herself, though, if she was the one that they all turned to for information on the houses. She was obviously wily enough to realize that the best way to gain favour was to be useful, like Ashley had, and though she did not have a name like Leclair to back her, she'd certainly done well enough for herself. He like her already.

"Well," she said thoughtfully, leaning forward, "Ravenclaw won't be much to worry about. Patil, the Head Girl, is the only girl who'd have a chance of getting in, but she probably won't bother because it might interfere with her duties, and none of the boys are anything special."

"What about Su Li?" question Zabini. "She can be fierce as a tiger." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and Davis rolled her eyes.

"Her father's an ambassador, a diplomat. He wouldn't allow her to get involved in something so obviously political." Her eyes jumped to Ashley's impassive face before she carried on hurriedly. "Finch-Fletchley and Macmillon will both probably enter from Hufflepuff, but neither are anything really spectacular. bones is nothing to sneeze at though, and she's got a bit of a chip on her shoulder, she'll be the one to watch out for."

Ashley eyed a pretty red-headed girl that Draco pointed out to him with long braids.

"All the Gryffindor boys will probably enter, but Thomas is the most likely to get in, of all of them, as the cleverest," she said somewhat reluctantly.

"A muggleborn," Draco said dismissively and waved her on.

"Well that's probably it, actually, because Brown and the other Patil are both fairly useless and Granger won't go anywhere near it."

By this time, the dinner meals had disappeared, leaving sparkling golden plates behind and shortly, platter of desserts appeared.

Ashley chose a bowl of fruit salad and a small plate of cheeses for himself and chose to stay silent as speculation on the tournament carried on around him. He saw little use in the guesswork and was not looking forward to putting himself on such a display as the tournament would. it was a veritable nightmare. Oh, he got enough press form his dueling and broom racing wins, but a couple of articles was usually as far they went. Being the private person that he was, he was not involved in any social scandals at all and gave no interviews, enticing the least amount of media coverage possible for his situation. What was coming would change all that, however, and the other Slytherins seemed to know it. He _detested_ the spot light, and attention in general. If not for his love for a challenge and his immense ambition to succeed in reaching his goals, he would not have entered the international arena at all, and would most likely be thought of by the few who knew him as a reclusive book-hoarder, much as he was seen by his classmates at Durmstrang most of the time. Now, though, he was being thrust into the center of a political struggle that he had not interest in and it did not sit well with him at _all_.

The sound of his new classmates getting to their feet alerted him to the end of dinner and broke him out of his introspective brooding in time to step gracefully up, straighten his robes, and fall in step with his godbrother out of the Great Hall. They walked together down several corridors and flights of steps into the bowels of the castle, Ashley concentrating on memorizing the route for future reference. The other Slytherins followed behind, the younger prefects delegated to herding along the sleepy first years.

Draco paused eventually before a seemingly unremarkable stretch of stone wall and spoke evenly, "nightshade." The wall sank back a ways, then slid to the side to reveal the Slytherin Common Room. Dimly lit by lamps and the strong fire in the grate, it was decorated with elegant dark wood furniture, several sitting areas spread about and a long row of tables and chairs along one wall. The most eye-drawing piece, thought, was the wall-sized window that looked out into the Black Lake. As Ashley watched, a grindylow floated by, making faces at him through the glass before disappearing off into the murky green depths.

The Slytherins milled about the room, speaking quietly, obviously waiting for something, the prefects keeping an eye on the younger students. After several minutes of listening to Draco assert himself over a couple of particularly bold sixth years, Ashley noticed all conversation stop and looked up to see his father entering the common room, regal in all his great sweeping black robes and his eyes sharp and piercing from behind his curtain of dark hair.

When he spoke, his voice was so soft to almost be a whisper and yet not a word was missed in the unnatural stillness he invoked in those throughout the room.

"Welcome to Slytherin. You are now hated and feared by three quarters of this school's population. Congratulations."

He stare around menacingly at them all, his rule absolute.

"You are the ambitious. This is good. It means that you have the drive to be the elite, as befits Salazar Slytherin's noble legacy.

You are also the cunning. This is fortunate. For the very ambition that drives you to success is often the very thing that will trip you up; it breeds mistrust and wariness in those who cannot and will not understand it.

For this reason, you _must_ show a united front. You will have disagreement. This is inevitable. But you _will_ restrict any and all internal altercations to the Common Room. Outside of this place, you are one body against three. To strike against oneself under such odds is nothing more or less than folly. Your foolishness reflects on your entire house as well as upon myself. And I tell you now that I do not suffer fools gladly."

He glared around the room, then turned his gaze to Draco. "Mr. Malfoy, you can take care of the rest, I trust?"

Draco nodded sharply to his head of house, his back straight, hands clasped behind him.

"Good. In that case, I will take my leave. Questions and concerns can be directed to prefects and your Head Boy. Mr. Leclair, a word, if you please."

Heads turned to watch Ashley as he strode to his father's side, then followed him out of the Common Room entrance and down the hall to his quarters.


End file.
